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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239480">above the tide of hours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle'>frostmantle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>through a mirror, darkly [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#19 gave me too many ideas, #4 is NSFW, 5.3 spoilers abound, Cunnilingus, F/M, Garlean Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, a wine prompt that astoundingly does not relate to yesterday's tales from the shadows story, ah yes hello banter my old friend, also we're kicking this one off with the pain train i guess, another family story but this one is heavy, as with last year's entry i will be tagging as i go, but i decided on love languages and raha teasing him, call me zodiark because my thirst consumes worlds, cw: body horror/aetheric corruption, extra credit day means extra scene, gently hands u a story about family and time and food and a baby nero, i have a hc about the ascians and it's they were ALL starting to lose themselves, i stan danger nerds, i will pull up a conspiracy theory chart like the meme don't you dare @ me, in which nero invents the pressure vibe, local ascian man is sad, lore consistent racism because garleans are just kind of Like That Unfortunately, mention of parental death and pregnancy in #29 just fyi, mentions of chronic depression and alcoholism, minor sorrow of werlyt spoilers, nero doesn't like it when people see through his public face, no beta we just die, oh hey frost was behind on prompts so today's update is a three for one, rowena is the true final boss of ffxiv, self-indulgent wol backstory, strip poker night with the OT3 because i'm being self indulgent, the rahanero is a bit implied but they totally did it y'all, they may be smart kids but they're still kids, this was supposed to be happy but then a wild zenos appeared, whoops so is #6, zenos pls just let her fuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:21:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's that time of year again! FFXIVWrite 2020 prompt responses, of varying lengths. These are all rough and unedited per the spirit of the challenge and I will add to this file with tags and entries as I go. As with the previous set, some will be 'canon' to my fic series and some will not.</p><p>9/30/2020 - COMPLETE. </p><p>NOTE: There are 5.3 spoilers beyond!</p><p>Prompt #30 - "Splinter." Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. "How can you find beauty in any world if you look and only see your loss staring back?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva, G'raha Tia &amp; Nero tol Scaeva, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia/Nero tol Scaeva, Haurchefant Greystone &amp; Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>through a mirror, darkly [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>#FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. table of contents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>TABLE OF CONTENTS</strong> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>1. <strong>Crux</strong>. E<span class="u">met-Selch/14th</span>. The nature of time and the heart of the matter. 5.3 spoilers.</p><p>2. <strong>Sway</strong>. Gen. G'raha Tia and a certain outlandish man have a conversation (the Nero/G'raha overtones in this one are strong enough that I belatedly tagged it). Spoilers for end of CT.</p><p>3. <strong>Muster.</strong> Gen. A girl and not yet a hero, bound in a cage of silks and aurum-plated steel.</p><p>4. <strong>Clinch.</strong> <span class="u">Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva</span>. <strong>NSFW.</strong> Spoilers for end of CT. </p><p>5. <strong>Matter of Fact.</strong> <span class="u">Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. Nero hates hospitals. </p><p>6. <strong>Frequency.</strong> <span class="u">Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. "A successful field test, wouldn't you say?" <strong>NSFW.</strong></p><p>7. <strong>Nonagenarian.</strong> Gen. A story about food and family.</p><p>8. <strong>Clamor</strong>. Gen. Nero's recurring nightmare, in the aftermath of the World of Darkness and beyond. <strong>CW: Body horror/aetheric corruption.</strong> </p><p>9. <strong>Lush</strong>. <span class="u">Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light</span>. She had always smelled of lavender. <strong>NSFW</strong>. Spoilers for 5.0 (Shadowbringers).</p><p>10. <strong>Avail</strong>. <span class="u">Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. In vino, veritas. </p><p>11. <strong>Ultracrepidarian</strong>. Aurelia jen Laskaris, age 18, receives a suitor.</p><p>12. <strong>Tooth and Nail.</strong> <span class="u">Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. Let me be a beast. <strong>NSFW.</strong></p><p>13. <strong>Constraint</strong>. A deleted scene, so to speak, from chapter 30 of "Reborn by Fire."</p><p>14. <strong>Part</strong>. Gen. Another story about family. Julian rem Laskaris was weak. </p><p>15. <strong>Ache</strong>. Gen. In which a bedside manner is learned.</p><p>16. <strong>Lucubration</strong>. <span class="u">Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. "Ever since I have known you, I have studied every part of you." <strong>NSFW</strong>.</p><p>17. <strong>Fade</strong>. Gen. Emet-Selch could no longer remember, but it didn't matter.</p><p>18. <strong>Panglossian</strong>. <span class="u">Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light</span>. In a dark future, one thread from the past still holds out hope.</p><p>19. <strong>Where the Heart Is.</strong> Gen. "My compliments to the chef."</p><p>20. <strong>Tedium</strong>. Light Nero/WoL. The worst enemy of a recovering patient is boredom.</p><p>21. <strong>Foibles</strong>. Pride and restlessness have a way of getting Nero in trouble.</p><p>22. <strong>Argy-bargy</strong>.  Geniuses or not, children are still children.</p><p>23. <strong>Shuffle</strong>. <span class="u">Cid Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light</span>. In which a game of chance is played.</p><p>24. <strong>Beam</strong>. WoL. Physician, heal thyself.</p><p>25. <strong>Wish</strong>. WoL backstory. "I wish I could be someone else."</p><p>26. <strong>When Pigs Fly</strong>. "You brought <em>Elidibus</em> into this??" <span class="u">Emet-Selch/14th.</span></p><p>27. <strong>Acceptance</strong>. "You will always be my dearest friend." <span class="u">Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light</span>.</p><p>28. <strong>Irenic</strong>. Nero &amp; G'raha. "She needs a friend." Another Crystal Tower conversation.</p><p>29. <strong>Paternal</strong>. Edmont de Fortemps &amp; WoL. "He wasn't a father to me. How could he have been?" The night before a wedding. A spiritual predecessor to last year's fill, "Palaver."</p><p>30. <strong>Splinter</strong>. <span class="u">Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light.</span> "How can you find beauty in <em>any</em> world, shattered or otherwise," she said sadly, "when you look at it and only see your loss staring back?" </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. #1 - Crux</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emet-Selch and the 14th, and the nature of time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The concept of the timepiece, Hades had always thought to himself, was both eminently rational and peculiarly <em>ir</em>rational.</p><p>Nabriales was the keeper of the Convocation minutes, ever punctual, and ensured the ship of any given meeting was tightly and neatly run, which was an important thing, of course. To master the concept of time was to provide proper documentation, proper history.</p><p>But everyone knew that such things were a superficial conceit at best, even the Majestic himself.</p><p>Time was an <em>elastic</em> thing. </p><p>Any Amaurotine with a basic grasp of creation magic learned when they were still young how to alter their perception of time. A second could be as years and a year could be as a day, and a season could be as a lifetime when one was separated from the things - the <em>people</em> - that made it worth living. Hades understood that fact better than most.</p><p>For Hades always knew, always, always, when the turn of the warm seasons ended at least and the time for travel was done. </p><p>With the drifting fall of old leaves there would also come the hollow tapping of a beak upon the patio door.</p><p>It was always early of an autumn morning, when incipient chill had returned to the eternal ebb and flow of the star’s winds. He would sit up - hair mussed from its journey over his pillows as he tossed and turned at night - and smile, and he would reach for the mask he always kept set neatly on his bedside table, because <em>she</em> would be there. Razor-sharp talons curled over the spindly back of a delicate wrought-iron chair, soft layered feathers ruffled in the high and thin currents, thin and colder still outside the penthouse apartment they shared- with her rounded golden eyes fixed expectantly upon him, calm and unblinking.</p><p>Waiting for Hades to invite her in.</p><p>She could simply let <em>herself</em> in, he knew, but that was not the Traveler’s way.</p><p>It had become a game with her over the years, even as he’d warned her about the dangers of taking a form so drastically different from her own. But as much as he scolded and lectured, and as much as she scoffed and teased, it was a routine. A warm and worn blanket with the threads woven from memory and routine, and one Hades - for all his exasperation - secretly awaited with no small degree of eagerness. The bright months, spring into summer, were so interminable he had long ago taken that basic time-trick and put it to quietly selfish ends.</p><p>They were easier to endure, that way.</p><p><em>Tap, tap,</em> came the sound of her beak on the glass. A single snap of his fingers, dry and sharp, left him sufficiently dressed to open the door.</p><p>He was already smiling. And when Azem the Traveler fluttered across the threshold in a flurry of leaf-brown and snow-white to take once more the form of the woman he loved, he saw she was smiling too.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Time was an elastic thing. </p><p>It yawned between them now, a chasm, a <em>gulf</em> of fury and desperation stretched across hours and days and weeks. Their voices, lowered and urgent, echoed through the emptied hallway. Hades had seen her angry before, but that anger had never been directed at him. Not like this.</p><p>“You said you had convinced the assembly to <em>wait</em> before making any decisions,” she said, and behind her mask of office, Azem’s eyes simmered with fire like the core of Lahabrea’s phoenix, alight with her fury. “You said you would tell them–”</p><p>“I <em>did</em> tell them–”</p><p>“–to wait for my report! You <em>promised!</em>” Her lips trembled, turning into a downward bow. “How could you agree to such a thing? How could you possibly think-”</p><p>“Will you kindly stop shouting long enough to <em>listen</em> to me? We have no other viable options left!”</p><p>“There is <em>always</em> a choice! Did you even try?”</p><p>“Of course I tried! What do you take me for?” His own temper flared as his hands squeezed her shoulders. “I tried to see things your way, I even convinced them to wait for some time, but there is <em>no time left!</em>”</p><p>The trembling ceased. Her lips drew into a flat and unyielding line, and a deep and uneasy chill rippled through his own limbs at the sight of it. He didn’t need to see her eyes to see the door slamming shut in his face.</p><p>“None of you have ever understood the lives of those outside the city,” she said flatly. “Not now. Not ever. Even you of all people– as much as I have confided in you, shed <em>tears</em> over them-”</p><p>“I <em>do</em> understand that you have your duties as I have mine,” Hades bit out between clenched teeth, “but I will <em>never </em>understand why you seem to feel so much more empathy for these creatures than you do your own people.”</p><p>She flinched as though he’d slapped her. A frozen moment passed before she shrugged away the hand on her shoulder, and in that moment Hades felt the retreat of her very aether: the closing of doors one by one until he could no longer see the facets of that brilliant blue as clearly as he once had. It was muted and brassy, the color of the noonday sky in summer. </p><p>“And there it is,” she said. “That is the crux of it all, this division between myself and the rest of you. You don’t understand me, Emet-Selch. Nor do the others.”</p><p>She straightened her shoulders, the drape of her robes shifting with the motion-</p><p>-and removed her mask.</p><p>Before he could recoil in shock she had grabbed his wrist and placed her discarded badge in his hand, then with an almost insolent gesture the unadorned alabaster smoothness of an Amaurotine citizen’s mask covered her features once more. “Not once, in all these years, have you ever learned to love the world that lives beyond these borders. And if you cannot understand what it means to love the world, you cannot hope to understand why I must put the world first.”</p><p>His throat felt unbearably dry. So shocked was he that in that moment he forgot her title.</p><p>“Tisiphone-”</p><p>“Emet-Selch. Pray let it be known: I hereby tender my resignation from the Fourteenth seat.” The smile that curved her lips was joyless. “You may pass along my sentiments to the others. Though I doubt I shall be missed. They seem to have operated just fine without my input thus far.”</p><p>Time stretched and constricted as her back turned, and Hades was left only with the Traveler’s mask in one hand and the other opened–reaching for her, to call back the inevitable.</p><p>But Azem did not stop. She passed beyond him to the entrance of the Capitol Building and in moments he was alone.</p><p>Hades shoved his hood from his face and clenched his fingers through his hair.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Time was an elastic thing.</p><p>Time was an elastic thing and Hades could count down to the exact minute how long he could keep this moment fresh in his memory, holding her sundered and dying body in his arms.</p><p>“This was your fault,” he whispered.</p><p>Rage</p><p>(his or his Lord’s, did it matter, did it matter)</p><p>and anguish building deep within his breast, throttled into a scream, and for all his rage he found he could see nothing through his tears. Nothing save that serene and smiling face he had loved so much, as she left him behind for the sake of the world she said he had never cared to understand.</p><p><em>“This was your fault,”</em> he snarled again, throat tight, time stretching and dilating until it was too thin, pulled taut and unwinding to snap and tangle, the edges raw and bleeding and <em>forgotten</em> except for her final words.</p><p>Ten months, he thought. He could stretch this moment no farther than ten months. Just shy of a year. </p><p>Seven weeks–a single season, to recall the exact gold of her eyes: the throat of one of Halmarut’s day lilies, bright yellow darkening to liminal gold before it turned amber at the base. Two for her hair, sunlit gold. Four for her throaty laugh. Two for the warmth wrapped about him as they lay in their bed.</p><p>Ten months was all he had to remember the countless years of their lives together before the light in her eyes had dulled and her soul shattered into fragments. And all he had left to himself was his rage and his grief. </p><p>Knowing that in the end, she had chosen the world over him. That she had abandoned him. That she would make that choice again if she could.</p><p>Hatred thrummed through his veins, rancor the very pulse that throbbed in his temples- but the claws that had wrapped themselves about his soul failed against the cry of his heart. </p><p>
  <em>And that is the crux of it all. You don’t understand me.</em>
</p><p>He didn’t. He was a selfish creature at his core, selfish and sentimental, and she had been his reliable and unwavering other half to the bitter end. Gentle where he was harsh, boundlessly loving where he thought only of himself, and at his core, far below the paired virtues of civic duty and learned devotion, all he had ever wanted was to keep the people he treasured close, and he had lost the one that mattered most.</p><p>Azem had been right.</p><p>Azem had been right, and Emet-Selch couldn’t bear it.</p><p>The sun fled in the wake of the storm, and upon the last whole souls of a world torn asunder, a cold rain began to fall. And fall. And fall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. #2 - Sway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You are immune neither to time nor regrets.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>spoilers for crystal tower, assuming folks haven't already been spoiled on the details of a 7 year old raid ;;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>"You're mad," Nero tol Scaeva said. G'raha Tia's face was the picture of a calm he did not feel.</p><p>"Perhaps."</p><p>"That implies a hypothetical 'other' situation in which what you propose would not in fact be tantamount to suicide. One which, in this case, <em>does not exist.</em>" The Garlean's face was pale and drawn, as it had been since they had rescued him from his misadventure in that pocket dimension, but his words carried as much of their usual bite as ever. "Ergo, you are <em>mad."</em></p><p>"In your opinion."</p><p>"In my <em>professional</em> opinion."</p><p>"As what? A tribune of the XIVth? An engineer?"</p><p>Those hawkish eyes, which G'raha had once thought so cold, regarded him with an expression which he couldn't quite pair with an emotion, before their owner ran his long and callused fingers through wind-blown curls-- for what must have been the fifth or sixth time since he'd started talking about his plan, which told him the motion was akin to a tic. One Nero barely noticed, and likely only indulged when he was agitated. </p><p>Or worried.</p><p>The man had cast his eyes outward, peering into the depths of Silvertear's waters like the fathomless scrying pools of some ancient and nameless oracle, and he would not look G'raha in the eye again.</p><p>"As someone who has made too many impulsive decisions to count," he said at last, "and which have cost him dear."</p><p>"Nero-"</p><p>"I don't care to hear your justifications." He still wouldn't look at G'raha but the waving motion of his hand was flippant and insolent, laced with his customary arrogance - if one failed to note how practised it appeared. "Even if you don't care to give your reasons to Garlond, or to that motley collection calling themselves NOAH, I would think you at least owe it to Aure-... to <em>Mistress Laskaris</em> to explain yourself. She seems to value your opinions."</p><p>G'raha raised his brows at the other man's absent-minded - and familiar - use of the Warrior's name. "She wouldn't understand my reasoning any more than you do."</p><p>"I think the eikon-slayer would understand far more than you realize. She's every bit as lacking in self-preservation as you appear to be." </p><p>"There's no time left. If I must-"</p><p><em>"Time,"</em> the Garlean snarled suddenly, spitting the word as though it were venom. "Give me strength, the man thinks he's a bloody philosopher. There's not any bloody <em>time</em> for any of us, son of Allag, other than the time we <em>make. </em>We get one chance, one life to shine upon this scrap of earth we call a star, and once it's passed, it's passed. You hold the keys to the Tower now, and what of it? You are immune neither to <em>time</em> nor regrets."</p><p>The Miqo'te sighed, curled his tail about his folded knees, and said nothing. His erstwhile companion uttered a short, scornful laugh.</p><p>"Leastwise, 'twould seem I am not the only <em>coward</em> amongst our number," and despite himself G'raha felt his hackles rising. The man had a certain talent for riling tempers, one he clearly had not lost in those weeks spent in the Void, "There is a certain comfort to be taken in that, I suppose."</p><p>"I am not a coward."</p><p>"No?" That sharp stare lingered pointedly until it was G'raha's turn to look into the fog bank over the deep waters where his thoughts might remain his own, at least for the moment. "Then why won't you tell her what you're planning? For that matter, why are you telling <em>me?</em> Surely Cid bloody Garlond would make a better confidante."</p><p>Finally the last heir of Allag allowed himself a tiny smile and watched the hairline cracks form in Nero's composure.</p><p>"Because Cid would have at least put in the effort to sway me from this course of action. You have not attempted to do so even once- only berated me for not having the courage, as you put it, to tell Aurelia what I plan to do. And-" G'raha's smile didn't falter. "No man risks his neck for his enemy's sake. I think you <em>do</em> care about us and what happens to us. Far more than you wish me or anyone else to believe."</p><p>"You think far too highly of yourself," Nero scoffed. "I'm hardly so thoughtless I'd let a man run to his own end simply to make some grand and ultimately pointless gesture." </p><p>"Be that as it may," his own voice was calm and measured, "I have made my choice. My course is set." </p><p>The engineer said nothing. Instead he reached for a nearby stone, turned it over and over between his knuckles as if to judge its heft, then with a snap of his wrist flung it on a whistling trajectory towards the fog-dimmed shape of the <em>Agrius,</em> lying in its watery grave alongside the adversary that had doomed it.</p><p>The rock skipped, once, twice, thrice, leaving ripples in its wake before it slowed and gravity took its inevitable toll.<br/><br/>"Then by all means," Nero tol Scaeva said, the mask securely back in his place, bland and dismissive, "don't let me keep you." </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. #3 - Muster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"All bright colors and meaningless noise."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aurelia bas laskaris, future warrior of light, age 19</p><p>as a side note, this meets the requirement for the prompt in two separate ways, lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Aurelia! Aurelia, come inside, now! Off the balcony, there's a dear-"</p><p>The voice belonged to one Marcella het Laskaris - a stout lady of imposing height and middle age - currently peering down her nose at her ward with sharp and critical pale grey eyes, painted lips pursed. "Surely you know you can't just stand out here all night," she said. "Do you think your uncle and I brought you along on a whim?"</p><p>"To see the royal gardens, perhaps, aunt?"</p><p>"Oh, Aurelia, don't be cheeky," Marcella huffed, grasping the girl's mink-covered shoulders. "Come along now."</p><p>She bit back a heavy sigh, as it was quite clear she had no say in tonight's proceedings. "Where are we going?"</p><p>"I'm introducing you to Livilla fae Dolabella's son--"</p><p>For a moment she blanked, then her memory put the pieces together and before she could stop herself Aurelia let out a despairing groan.</p><p>"Oh.... seven <em>hells! </em>You surely don't mean <em>Marius quo</em> <em>Dolabella</em>."</p><p>"Don’t be so ungrateful, girl. You should be thanking me for the opportunity to introduce you," Marcella scolded. "And it's Marius <em>rem</em> Dolabella; he's just returned on leave from a campaign in Nagxia. He cuts <em>quite </em>the dashing figure, if I do say so myself."</p><p><em>Whatever his title is, he's a bloody bore</em>. She'd spoken to Marius rem Dolabella at a dinner party nearly a year ago, for precisely half an hour, and it was as much conversation as she ever cared to have with the man henceforth.</p><p>"This way," her aunt was saying, tugging on her elbow. "Follow me. Be quick- but don't run. The Emperor himself might be present! Graceful strides, graceful strides. Shoulders back-"</p><p>"<em>Yes,</em> aunt! I know, I <em>know.</em>"</p><p>Resigning herself to a tedious evening, Aurelia tugged the heavy stola tighter about her shoulders until the expanse of collarbone and decolletage were shielded from the touch of the wind and any prying eyes, before passing through the double doors and into one of the estate's many parlors. The sooner she kept her mouth shut and acquiesced, the sooner she could be shut of this place and back to her studies.</p><p>Studies which, much to her internal dismay, her uncle's wife refused to take seriously.</p><p><em>I am </em>supposed <em>to be studying materials for the Academy's bioengineering lectures next month, not... prancing around the imperial palace! As if His Radiance hasn't countless better things to do than muster every ridiculous man and woman of age within fifty malms to come make fools of themselves kowtowing to him.</em></p><p>But it was what it was. There was little point in beating her wings against the bars of her gilded cage.</p><p>She trailed at her aunt's back, taking in the sights around her with a perfunctory eye. Despite the staid and functional ugliness of most of the compound without, the interior of the imperial palace was surprisingly elegant, with shelves of books and paintings in each room as well as a pianoforte - each one currently occupied. Soft and unobtrusive melodies whispered from those keys into the milling crowd, a delicate and quiet sound meant as nothing more than window dressing, the aural equivalent of a handful of diamonds scattered with studied artlessness across a velvet canvas.</p><p>Beneath the music, hints of conversation caught at her ears on their way to the great hall-- mostly from older women, gathered in clusters and tittering over glasses of Dalmascan wine. She kept her features carefully schooled as they passed by her uncle: the retired legatus was deep in conversation with three other hard-faced, broad-shouldered men whose postures likewise marked them as career officers of the imperial legions.</p><p>"Did you hear the latest? About Midas nan Garlond's boy?" one of them said. "Word has it he's been found, building airships for those savages in the south..."</p><p>The conversation drifted off as the men made their way towards one of the opened side parlors and her own trail took her towards the massive guard-flanked doors. These would open into the high, equally massive hall, wherein one old man held sway over fully half the star. If not more, these days.</p><p>"Aurelia, dear," her aunt's sharp voice, "mind your posture. Ladies do not <em>fidget</em>."</p><p>"Yes, Aunt Marcella," she said, not bothering to keep the weariness from her voice. "Forgive me."</p><p>Her apology received not even a cursory nod. The uniformed figures at the door were looking at her aunt's card and bowing, and the doors were already swinging open on ponderous hinges to receive them into a slow and stately partnered dance. Aurelia's late arrival had cost her the opportunity to display her own skills at the art. Not that she minded - she enjoyed dancing well enough, but not if it meant putting herself on display - even if it meant she had to wait until the coda drew to its conclusion before making a proper entrance.</p><p>"Give me your furs," Marcella hissed in her ear as the pair walked along the carpet. "It won't do if you're not <em>seen</em>."</p><p>That would be no issue, Aurelia thought sourly; the would-be suitor in question was looking right at her. His expression was as bland and disinterested as she felt her own must be. Hells. Desperately she cast her gaze about the hall, looking for any sort of distraction that might-</p><p>"Oh, Aunt Marcella, look, it's Theodosia! Pray make my excuses to the Dolabellas; she's seen me and I <em>must</em> say hello!" Ignoring her aunt's protests, she wove her way through the throng until she was at a suitable distance and closed in upon the first friendly face she saw to take the young woman's elbow. "Theodosia! Over here, this way, for the love of everything-"</p><p>"Aurelia," Theodosia bas Procillus began, blue eyes wider than usual in her sharp-featured face, "you're <em>late!</em> You've <em>just</em> missed His Radiance."</p><p>"Have I?"</p><p>"He said he wished to remain longer, but he was feeling unwell and must retire to his chambers ere the last dance-" Her classmate stared blankly at the alcove with its plush chairs half-concealed from sight of most of the hall. "...Relia, why are we hiding?"</p><p>"It's either hide from prying eyes and ears or let my aunt drag me about to meet the eligible bachelors of Garlemald like a prized dairy cow on public auction." A slow, stately rondeau rolled into their ears as the pair sat. "She's determined I should be betrothed this season."</p><p>Silks of varying shades like the petals of her roses, twirling in languid ripples about delicately slippered feet and the sensuous sway of a flared hip: demurely gloved hands, palm to palm upon each heel-turn, ceruleum-powered lights from a great chandelier catching the outline of carefully coiffured hair and their finery in turn. It was almost hypnotic, she thought. Each young woman guiding in each step the attentions of young men in starched collars and long-tailed jackets-- a picture made lovely by artifice if not by nature. </p><p>Theodosia's eyes followed her focus, before her schoolmate leaned toward her with a conspiratorial smile. "For all your scornful talk, you seem quite content to watch them dance."</p><p>"Watching does no harm."</p><p>"And what do you see?"</p><p>"...I see a muster of peacocks."</p><p>"Peacocks?"</p><p>"Aye. Peacocks." Aurelia's gaze dropped to her gloved hands, folded in her lap and clutching her silk fan. "All bright colors and meaningless noise and naught of any real substance 'twixt their ears to recommend them."</p><p>"Aurelia bas Laskaris," Theodosia laughed, "mark my words: someday, one of those pretty men out there is going to have to do battle with that spinster's tongue of yours, does he wish to claim your hand. I must say, I pity him for his infatuation."</p><p>"Save your pity for <em>me</em>, Thea. For if one of these overstuffed <em>roosters</em> liked the look of me, I should be forced to bear his company whilst he shakes his feathers in my general direction."</p><p>Her classmate uttered a small, shocked laugh as the music built to a crescendo and another suite came to its conclusion. </p><p>Upon the polished marble floors, clad in their bright finery, the so-called peacocks and their dancing partners acknowledged their accomplishment to polite and scattered applause and the coldness of an empty throne.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. #4 - Clinch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Time was a funny thing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just in case anyone goes :/ at me, yes, in the NSFW part of this flashback they are both 19 LMAO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>Stop it</em>, Garlond."</p><p>"Stop what?"</p><p><em>"Stop stealing the covers." </em>A violent yank of the insulated woolen blanket. "There's a blizzard out, in case you hadn't noticed."</p><p>The other boy sat up, squinted at him... and rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Go back to sleep, Scaeva," Cid grumbled.</p><p>Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he curled himself back into a roll of the coverlet until all that was visible in the near-blackness of this remote corner was a tuft of platinum-colored hair.</p><p>Nero bas Scaeva scowled at his rival -- what he could see of him, anyway. </p><p>It was the middle of the night; the lecture hall was dark and silent and the wind screamed around the eaves of the building. All that was visible in the fogged-over windowpanes was frost and sleet, tightly packed into the corners of each steel frame, and the waves of ice and snow carried in each bracing gust that rattled the glass. </p><p>The headmaster had deemed the inclement weather too dangerous to allow the students to leave, for one could not even see to the next building in the storm, and it would be as much as one's life was worth to make the attempt. This was the third night in a row they'd been snowed and/or iced in, and Nero had managed only a few hours of broken sleep for waking up freezing cold and exposed to the elements. Meanwhile Cid would be lying next to him, deeply and happily asleep and curled in a tight ball in all of the lined and insulated cover he'd rolled into over the night.</p><p>Also he whip-kicked regularly. And he had cold feet.</p><p>On top of all his <em>other</em> failings, Cid bas Garlond was also a dirty blanket thief stealing precious warmth and Nero was too tired to even make the barest attempt at civility.</p><p>He reached over with both hands and with an equally violent motion pulled a corner of the blanket back for himself.</p><p>"What-<em>hey!</em>"</p><p>"It's <em>cold</em> and you're hogging the blanket."</p><p>Cid fixed him with a murderous glare before he tugged on the blanket with all his might.</p><p>Nero, not expecting more than token resistance and refusing to yield his claimed corner, collapsed with a yelp. His weight rolled into the blanket until the pair were tangled and submerged in fabric, and it was then their fight began in earnest, scuffling and wrestling and spitting insults at each other as each tried to gain dominance and win the blanket tug-of-war.</p><p>"Insufferable prig!"</p><p>"Arrogant ass!"</p><p>The dull smack of a fist against a jaw.</p><p>"Is that all you have?" Nero sneered. "You punch like an asthmatic toddler, <em>Cidolfus.</em>"</p><p>"Shut up," Cid spat. "If I liked I could beat you blindfolded."</p><p>"With <em>those</em> overcooked noodles for arms? I doubt it."</p><p>
  <em>"You-"</em>
</p><p>"<em>Oi!</em> Garlond! Scaeva!"</p><p>The pair of students froze mid-clinch: Cid with his hands wrapped around Nero's throat, Nero with a handful of Cid's linen undershirt in one fist. They stared at each other, then squinted through the weave of the blanket.</p><p>"The rest of us are trying to <em>sleep,</em>" continued the disgusted voice, one that belonged to a classmate. "Knock off your lovers' spat or I'm waking up the professor!"</p><p>Cid cleared his throat.</p><p>"Sorry," he said.</p><p>"Right, sorry," Nero echoed.</p><p>No response save a grunt, a rustle, and silence. </p><p>Suddenly the entire situation struck them both as absurdly trivial. Their scowls relaxed into grins, and Nero wasn't sure which of them started laughing first.</p><p>~*~</p><p>"If you'd just sit still for two seconds so I could get this bloody knot untangled-"</p><p>"Fuck's sake," it felt almost impossible to keep himself quiet with his breathing a harsh and erratic rasp, heartbeat muffled as though someone had shoved cotton bolls in his ears, "would you <em>hurry up,</em> Garlond-"</p><p>"Nineteen summers old and you haven't changed a bloody bit."</p><p>"What," Nero managed, “is <em>that </em>supposed to mean?”</p><p>"I mean you <em>still</em> run your mouth too much." Cid's knuckles brushed over his rigid length, confined as it was within a pair of breeches that at this moment felt tight enough to crush him, and Nero groaned between clenched teeth, careless of anything but the immediacy of his own need. His stomach was a solid wall of tension and his cock throbbed in time with his pulse, a slow trickle of slick warmth leaking against his belly and into his smalls. "Patience is a virtue, you know."</p><p>"Patronizing me with one of your daddy's lectures,” his hands gripped Cid’s wrists, slender hips rocking in slow thrusts to meet only empty air (much to his present frustration), “such a <em>romantic</em> gesture."</p><p>"You're the one who's gone and tied double knots in leather, somehow," came the inevitable retort. His breaths, hot and trembling, came in ragged hefts of heat against Nero's shoulder. "If you want me in your pants so badly, maybe don't make getting into them a heroic challenge."</p><p>Nero laughed, a thin and trembling thing. The woolen blanket over their heads was paper-thin and anyone would be able to hear even though they'd dragged themselves into one of the maintenance closets. As much as he wanted to curse and cry out the risk was too much.</p><p>Another useless tug. He shoved Cid’s hands away and began to work the belt loose. "Give over, I'll do it myself-"</p><p>"If you rip your pants we're *both* going to have some explaining to do."</p><p>"We'll be wearing robes over our clothes for the graduation ceremony anyroad," he growled, worrying the belt back and forth. "I'd rather explain ripped breeches than-"</p><p>The overtaxed belt, a secondhand item already worn by years of use, snapped beneath his demanding fingers. He scrabbled desperately at the buttons until they gave and he was able to tug his pants, smalls and all, down to mid-thigh in one graceless force of motion. Nero spared a quick and triumphant smirk, one interrupted by a soft and sibilant hiss when the cold air sent gooseflesh prickling down his legs.</p><p>"Told you I'd manage fine without help."</p><p>"I just loosened them for you," Cid said with a laugh, blue eyes alight with amusement before one of those arms (strong arms, Nero thought distantly, watching the smooth flex of muscle beneath pale flesh) pinned him to the cold ground. There was no space heater in the supply closet and he winced at the sensation of cold slate against his bare back-</p><p>-and forgot all about it in the next breath, his mind and soul a hot and perfect void of cogent thought when the wet and agile heat of Cid's tongue lapped with deliberate languor from base to tip and he was engulfed in his lover's mouth.</p><p>Limbs grappled in wool, body wrapped in warmth.</p><p>~*~</p><p>
  <em>It's too quiet.</em>
</p><p>The Crystal Tower slept once again, and Nero tol Scaeva stood alone, gazing across the trench and up at the spires reaching for the heavens like fingers.</p><p>Such a beautiful sight, one not beheld by the eyes of man for thousands of years. The sheer scale of it was majestic and overwhelming and somehow so <em>unnecessary</em>, he thought. Xande's little thumb of the nose, perhaps. A tangible symbol of his defiance of his own nature. Just part and parcel of his attempt to become as a god-king, timeless and eternal. No such thing existed for the children of man, finite and ephemeral as life was - not that this had stopped the last Allagan Emperor from making the attempt.</p><p>Memory, black and ominous, fluttered errant at the fringes of his perception. Resolutely he pushed it down, carefully compartmentalized like crumbling files in an old drawer. </p><p>G’raha Tia would have shut the doors on himself by now. Periwinkle-blue eyes, brittle and distant, watched the facets reflect the coral-tinged light of the sunrise, refracted light glittering with a diamond-like brilliance along each gleaming edge. <em>Will the passing of time dull your power to remember us, I wonder, should anyone ever manage to open those doors and rouse you?</em></p><p>He couldn't countenance it, this strange sorrow and <em>guilt </em>he felt. All for a man he barely knew, and the fact he felt either of these things at all for a man who was, after all, little more than an acquaintance?</p><p>It annoyed him deeply.</p><p>Eyes still fixed upon the overly elaborate mausoleum - a fitting tomb for an emperor, he thought vaguely - he removed the aetherometer from his pocket.</p><p>Time was a funny sort of thing. Once there would have been a time in which the aftermath of his choices would have proven too much for him to bear alone, and Nero would have found himself standing in front of Garlond's tent, seeking entrance to that bedroll, pride clutched like an old blanket in arms that trembled with his own internal weakness.</p><p>Time was, he thought. But time had passed for him and for Garlond, like ice-melt under the remnants of a broken bridge. And many of those old passions, he found, the old and violent desperation, had cooled alongside his rancor.</p><p>Against the glare of the rising sun his eyes fell shut.</p><p>His hand gripped the aetherometer in a tight clinch, cold metal and glass digging into his fingers - and then relaxed, balancing its weight in his palm before he flung it into the waiting maw of the trench.</p><p>The light of a new day awaited.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. #5 - Matter of Fact</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I'm only stating facts."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's short and just some fluff but fluff is good</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"No. Absolutely out of the question."</p><p>"Headmaster, I am <em>perfectly capable-</em>"</p><p>"You are not leaving the medical bay until the chirurgeons say you are no longer at risk of spreading the illness. I'll hear no more on the matter."</p><p>The flat denial sent him into a panicked spiral as nothing else could. Anxiety and horror coiled in his chest like a storm-tossed sea, so overwhelming that it made him forget everything else for a few bright and frantic seconds. </p><p>"But I put <em>everything</em> into this year's entry!" he rasped as loudly as he could manage. His throat, raw and ulcerated, shrieked its furious protests- but his frayed temper demanded satisfaction first and foremost for this <em>injustice</em>. The pain could be dealt with later, once he had made his case. "I don't have time for setbacks!"</p><p>"Young man, the fact of the matter is that you are very ill. Scarlatina is not merely a dangerous disease; it is a <em>contagious</em> one. I have enough experience with it to know your condition is not so much improved as you believe. Furthermore: if I allow you into the lecture halls or the labs as an exception - even for practicum - then I must needs allow your fellows to break quarantine, and that I will not do."</p><p><em>This can't be happening to me,</em> Nero thought wildly. <em>This absolutely cannot be happening.</em></p><p>"Headmaster, please. It's important. I'm well enough, I swear it. Well enough to sit up," he began, bracing his elbows against the mattress. "If I can sit up, I can work. Look-"</p><p>But his weakened body betrayed him in the very act of attempting to draw himself upright. The sudden motion set the entire world about his bed to spinning, his head throbbing with a feverish ache, and he collapsed back against his infirmary bed. Angry tears welled in his eyes and his throat ached with more than merely the fever.</p><p>Something like understanding flickered through those winter-grey eyes, and Midas nan Garlond's stern bearing softened, perhaps the barest ilm or so-- but he still shook his head.</p><p>"There are more important things than winning the spring exhibition, Nero," he said gently. "Take some rest and let yourself heal. There is always next year."</p><p>As the provost of the Magitek Academy stepped over the threshold and shut the door at his back, the boy found himself grateful that he had long ago learned how to keep his sobs too quiet for any adult to hear them.</p><p>~*~</p><p>"Wait," Aurelia said, "so <em>that's</em> why you hate hospitals so much?"</p><p>"I'm only stating <em>facts</em>. You needn't make it sound so-"</p><p>"And I only mean that scarlatina is a perfectly good reason for a fourteen-year-old boy to sit out his participation in a science fair-" </p><p>The furrow of a scowl slowly indexed itself from the rim of his third eye to the upper bridge of his nose. "What- <em>science fair?!</em> I shall have you know it was the <em>Imperial Magitek Youth Exhibition!</em> Only the most important contest of the scholastic year!" </p><p>"<em>-especially</em> when granted medical leave by his headmaster."</p><p>"<em>Science fair,</em> she says-"</p><p>She paused and set the foam-covered brush upon the tray in order to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. It was high summer in Gyr Abania, one every bit as punishing as Nero remembered it. Other than various members of the Ironworks and the woman who now attended him his most plentiful - and tenacious - visitors in Rhalgr's Reach by far had been the godsdamned midges.</p><p>"Very well, 'exhibition' it is. Now hold still while I get this last bit. Unless you <em>want</em> me to open your jugular." </p><p>The sharp edge of the straight razor rasped against his skin just at the juncture of earlobe and jaw, as she guided the shaving blade with the deft touch of a woman quite accustomed to this particular chore. Grumbling beneath his breath, he obeyed her nonetheless. His head ached a bit less today and he could sit up for longer periods without feeling sick to his stomach, but she had not judged his injuries sufficiently healed to handle the task himself. Although he was indifferent to the opinions of most people, he was not near fool enough to defy the eikon-slayer. </p><p>He was <em>quite</em> capable of shaving his own face, naturally- but sneaking a razor beneath her watchful eye was more effort than he cared to expend, and he knew full well that Garlond was enough of a priss to inform on him the second her patient was caught breaking her mandatory rest orders. And the touch of that soft and slender hand carefully bracing his bandaged head as she worked was gentle and soothing. </p><p>...Nero supposed there was no harm in indulging her for the nonce.</p><p>"All done," she murmured, and there was a metallic rattle as she set the razor alongside the washbasin. "Let me get a towel-"</p><p>"Give it to me. I can do that bit myself."</p><p>"Scaeva, I just <em>told</em> you-"</p><p>"I won't overtax myself." He lifted his right arm, hand opened. "Look for yourself. I won't even sit up."</p><p>Her expression was dubious but she pressed the damp cloth into his fingers. Without a pause, still lying flush against the mattress, Nero busied himself with the job of wiping away spare soap. She had been thorough; his skin was soft and smooth and smelled pleasantly of something light and musky, not the soap he normally used. No aftershave for that matter, though it wasn't as if he had any infirmary visitors to impress. </p><p>She took the cloth from him and set it aside with a soft sigh. "Thank you." </p><p>"Mm." Nero stared up at the craggy ceiling. "...Perhaps it sounds foolish to you, but that fair always meant a great deal to me." </p><p>"I know."</p><p>"But?"</p><p>"But grudges take up an awful amount of room in one's memory." Slender fingers twined delicately through his until their palms lay flush. He squeezed, briefly. "It's long past time to create new and better memories, one would think."</p><p>Nero waggled his brows at her in what he hoped was a suggestive fashion. <em>"Quite." </em></p><p>The Warrior of Light rolled her eyes, but a small smile had crept onto her face.</p><p>"Absolutely not. You can barely sit up as it is. And your recovery is going to take time, even with aether to speed it along."</p><p>"Oh, ruin a man's <em>fun</em>, why don't you-"</p><p>She grinned, wholly unaffected by his sulk -- feigned or otherwise.</p><p>"I'm only stating facts."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. #6 - Frequency</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"A successful field test, wouldn't you say?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's feral hours at casa de frostmantle apparently because i used a random word generator and when i saw the results i knew in my heart what i had been called by RNGesus to do. </p><p>NSFW, kids.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/><br/>The sweltering heat of summer was less so in the caves, but it might as well have been a sauna as far as Aurelia was concerned. Her skin was layered in a sheen of sweat. She could taste its salt on her tongue as it trickled between the corners of her mouth through barely parted lips. Even with most of her clothing stripped away, her linen shift still felt half-sodden where it sat rucked up to her waist.  <br/><br/>The worst part of it, the greatest torment, was that she could not make any sound. </p><p>She would not have expected that making the effort to stifle herself, to bite down upon her lips until they were sore and swollen, would be as taxing as slaying any primal. Her pulse hammered through her veins like the current of a live wire, throbbing in her ears. </p><p>But she knew she rode a razor's edge.</p><p>One gasp too deep in the throat, one pleading whimper even the barest hint too high in pitch, and she would be lost. She would cry out in earnest and wake one of the chirurgeons with her surrender, and should they seek the source of that sound they would find it paired with a steady mechanical rumble that seemed so very loud in this small and close room: a bone-deep noise generated by the small device which her lover held nestled securely between her legs, with the heel of his palm acting as a fulcrum to move it in any way he so chose.</p><p>Her back arched and her thighs quivered with another sharp, electric pulse. A small, nasal whine buzzed in the back of her mouth. </p><p>"More," she whispered. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. </p><p>The request was rewarded with a slow press of his lips against her left temple. "You're certain?"</p><p>She nodded, felt the warm and slightly roughened pad of his thumb shift from its position along the gentle outer curve of her mons to make the adjustment she had requested. </p><p>The soft click of the button - that one noise, small and infinitely discreet as it was - presaged the sudden depth of intensity. Those fluttering waves of pressure changed, became something swift and biting and almost painful. She clawed at the edge of the mattress, fingers clenched so tightly in the stuffing that her knuckles ached, muscles clenched from shoulder to fingertips.  </p><p>She'd feel it later, she knew; that entire arm would be cramped and sore and stiff and she'd not be able to bear its use for the rest of the day. For the moment, it hardly mattered. All her focus was upon that growing tension like a coiling serpent in the base of her belly, that seed of mortal rapture on the cusp of blooming.</p><p>Her breathing rattled in her throat, escaped her nose and her clenched teeth in erratic and frantic gasps. She was close-</p><p>Close, but not close enough. </p><p>
  <em>"More-"</em>
</p><p>She choked on the demand when another fingertip worked its way downward with maddening leisure: submerged between and beneath a slick crevasse to tease at her entrance before sliding inside with minimal resistance, up and up and in. The digit tilted and curled, stroking against her, something absurdly sensitive setting her nerves alight for a barest breath of a moment before it withdrew. </p><p>The urge to cry out was overwhelming, though one she managed to avoid- if only just. Her gusty, shaking sigh was the only indication of her lapse in control as she burrowed her face into his neck, chest heaving.</p><p>"Again?" he murmured. Gooseflesh prickled at the fan of his breath along her neck, rippled down her spine. </p><p>Her nod was rapid and emphatic, and he was quick to oblige her. There were two fingers this time: thrusting deep, aiming for that same place as before. The movement flattened his palm as it worked her, his movements sliding the toy in a rocking rhythm back and forth and in moments that unbearable heat and pressure were transmuted like lead into sweet gold and liquid fire. The fingers inside her curled again, this time firm and unrelenting. Her legs shuddered and convulsed, hip to knee to ankle.</p><p>She came and it was soundless: jaw slack and mouth open, eyes wide open and blinded by the potency of her climax.</p><p>Another quiet <em>click</em> and the small room was silent save for the sound of her breaths, heaving from her lungs to roll over the plane of his chest in small storms. He withdrew his hand, slipping from her to caress carefully through the aftershocks before resting it upon the soft expanse just below her navel. </p><p>Weary and sated, she tilted her head from its place beneath his chin to rest upon his shoulder.</p><p>Her outlandish man grinned in the darkness, devious and disarming; she could see the quick and shimmering flash of his teeth before he kissed her cheek. </p><p>"A successful field test, wouldn't you say?" </p><p>Through the weight of afterglow, she offered a weak laugh.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. #7 - Nonagenarian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"An adventure," he said.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>have a story about a grandmother :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"Where are you going, Nonna?"</p><p>Vita bas Laevinus smiled at the eager and upturned face of her young grandson - followed the sharp track of a periwinkle blue gaze half-concealed beneath a forest of pale gold curls - and bent her attention back to lacing up her pattens. </p><p>"Into the woods, dear," she said, "to prepare for tonight's dinner."</p><p>"By yourself?"</p><p>"And who else would be coming along? Your sisters are still at the schoolhouse and you've your chores to finish."</p><p>"Father says women and children mustn't go into the forest alone. There are monsters." The child shifted uneasily from foot to foot, as if he had something to say and not yet enough wherewithal nor courage to say it. "My chores are done, so I'll come with you, Nonna."</p><p>"Will you?"</p><p>"<em>Someone</em> has to protect you from the monsters."</p><p>"That's very brave," she said. "You don't even yet know why I'm going."</p><p>"...Are you gathering kindling for the hearthfire? Wait, but no- we have plenty of wood." His little brow knitted, a tiny line indexed from third eye to brow, before a sunny, triumphant smile replaced it. "It would be... would be <em>gratuitous</em>."</p><p>With a laugh she reached for the worn wicker basket hanging on the hook next to her shawl.</p><p>"Goodness, child, am I to be subjected to yet another of your large words?"</p><p>"I read it in one of Octavia's fairy tale books," he said, with an air of practiced indifference. "It means 'unnecessary'."</p><p>"Does it?"</p><p>"I can spell it, too. Want to hear?"</p><p>He was already rattling the letters off, swift and precise, before she could acquiesce. Five going on ninety, Vita thought with no small degree of amusement. The boy had mastered his letters before he was out of diapers and had feverishly consumed the contents of every book he'd laid hand upon since.</p><p>Vita ruffled his wild wind-tossed hair. "I'm going mushroom-picking," she said. "You can tell me some more of your words on the road. And if you watch and listen as well as you talk, you'll learn how to find the best caps for eating."</p><p>His eyes lit up.</p><p>"An adventure!"</p><p>"An adventure," she agreed, smiling.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Three winters passed and Vita was six and eighty.</p><p>Three winters had passed since her youngest daughter's death - since she'd come to live with her son-in-law and help care for the children - and she was starting to feel every turn of the seasons deep in her bones. Winter had lingered this year, and her difficulties remained even with the arrival of the warm months.</p><p>Safely unseen, watching from the window over her cookstove, Vita uncurled her aching fingers with the unhurried and experimental hesitancy borne of long experience with chronic pain. Her hands didn't hurt half as much as her poor hips; more often the chill left her too lame to forage in the wood alone for fear of falling. But she suspected it would not be so very long before she would be unable to cook the family meals without aid. </p><p>She was starting to slow down for good. It was only to be expected. Happened to everyone eventually, she supposed. Even if she worried what would become of them after she was gone, whenever that might be. </p><p><em>At least I have a willing and eager young assistant</em>, she told herself, glancing at the boy dutifully slicing a small block of cheese. And that was true enough; her grandson's early promise seemed only to blossom with each passing day, his fine and agile mind paired with a penchant for observation.</p><p>Although she wished he would make some friends his own age.</p><p>"Don't you want to go play with the other boys, Nero? It's a nice day and everyone else is outside."</p><p>"I can't. Father wants me to help him plant the north field, so I'm not to play today." Wiry shoulders lifted and dropped in a single abrupt and listless motion. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to associate with them." </p><p>"Whyever not?"</p><p>"...Because they're envious of me," he said, in as flat and factual a manner as she would have expected to hear had he informed her the sky was blue. He rolled up the sleeves of his secondhand dalmatica, faded and oversized, bulky in the waist but already too short in the arms; it was tight about those shoulders, knobby but broad. "Nonna, can you show me how to make your pasta?"</p><p>The boy's voice was curiously brisk. Vita's brows arched upwards in a silent question, but the calm and shuttered expression he wore told her she'd get naught else of importance out of him. </p><p>At just eight summers he was already learning how to hide himself from the world. She sighed.</p><p>"Yes. But not before you wash your hands." </p><p>"I know." He was already reaching for the water bucket. </p><p>Her gaze sharpened at the sight of his forearms. They were mottled with fingerprint bruises, the marks made by hands much larger than any of his classmates. But before she could remark upon it, his arms dropped to his sides and the voluminous sleeves hid them from sight as he turned away and made a quick exit.</p><p>The old door latched shut at his back, and like an errant cloud crossing the path of the sun, Vita's smile faded.<br/><br/>~*~</p><p>"He's not taking any bleeding <em>test</em> and that's final."<br/><br/>"What? Of course he'll take the placement test. Why wouldn't he?"</p><p>"There's no point. He's not going to any blimmin' Academy, either. Long past time he got his head out of the clouds and learned his place in the world." Atticus bas Scaeva was well on his way into another stupor. The unlovely paired scents of sweat and stale gin hung around his haggard features like an invisible cloud, his bloodshot grey eyes squinting at her out of sallow sockets. "Anyroad, I need him for the harvest. Eleven summers is plenty old enough for him to start properly earning his keep."</p><p>"We can hire extra hands for the harvest if that's what it takes, Atticus."</p><p>"Thresher's broken. And I've not the money to hire extra hands, let alone send the boy to some high-priced school in the capitol. He belongs on the land-"</p><p>Vita's lips tightened.</p><p>"He <em>belongs</em> wherever he wishes to go. If his future is elsewhere then I'll do what needs must to help him find his path."</p><p>Her son-in-law drew himself to his full seven fulms of height, looming over the worn surface of the table. She tensed but held her ground; the drink always turned his temper sour but he had always stopped well short of raising a hand against her. "Old woman," he growled, "mind your place and stay out of my affairs. I am the head of this household. You have no right-"</p><p>"They are my <em>grandchildren!</em> I have <em>every</em> right."</p><p>His teeth bared, like the hackles of a rabid dog.</p><p>"You'll hold your tongue if you like it in your head. You've always encouraged him in these fool notions about his tinkering. He's had plenty of book learning -- more than any of his sisters -- and now it's time he learned how to be a man and help run the farm." A petulant sort of animal cunning twisted at his lips. "Besides, there's no one on either side of the mountain knows how to fix a thresher of that make and model. He'll be staying whether he likes it or not."</p><p>Vita's expression remained carefully impassive, but as Atticus slumped back into his chair and reached for his bottle, all she could think about was the way her grandson's eyes came alight every time he could do what he loved- and the shuttered coldness in them when he couldn't.</p><p><em>We'll see about that, Atticus,</em> she thought, hobbling away, ignoring the grinding ache from shoulder to wrist as she leaned upon her cane. <em>We'll see about that.</em></p><p>~*~</p><p>"Father wasn't awake to see us leave, was he?"</p><p>"No, dear."</p><p>"Good," Nero said forcefully. His long legs kicked to and fro and his sharp eyes were fixed upon the timepiece overhead.</p><p>It was a warm morning, this day of her ninetieth summer: very still and humid, and Vita and her grandson sat alone on the small platform to wait. In this remote part of the province, the train that eventually ran on a route into the heart of the imperial capitol came only once a day. </p><p>She studied him, a boy with an intellect too large for his still-growing body. The clothes he wore were ill-fitting - more secondhand items from his sisters, worn and patched where the threads had run bare, too narrow in the back, too short in the arms and legs - but the texts in his lap were new, a farewell gift from the mayor who had acted as his patron when his acceptance letter had arrived from the Imperial Magitek Academy. </p><p>"You have your iden... your card."</p><p>"My identification card, yes."</p><p>"And your train pass."</p><p>"I've checked twice now."</p><p>"Mind you pay attention to your route. I've heard they have soldiers on these trains that will be very rough if you try to get back on the train once you're off." She fidgeted nervously with the embroidery in her lap. "Do you have your lunch box?"</p><p>"It's right here." </p><p>He patted the package that sat alongside the big leather bag holding all of his personal belongings, securely wrapped in plain hempen cloth, his initials sewn into the corner. Vita's smile was sad. </p><p>"The very last meal we cooked together before you went away to your new school," she said. "Think of your poor Nonna when you eat it."</p><p>"I will."</p><p>"And mind you write often. I want to hear all about the city."</p><p>"...Nonna?"</p><p>"What is it, dear?"</p><p>"You needn't worry for me. It's an adventure," he said. "Right?"</p><p>For just a moment she saw something of the boy he'd once been, for the first time in years. Worry lingered there in the tilt of his mouth, perhaps. Bitterness. Or the anxiety that ever came upon the cusp of the unknown- and then like a passing cloud, it was gone and he was grinning at her: mouth stretched wide and exuberant, pale blue eyes twin stars.</p><p>It would be more difficult without his hands to help at the farm, but it was the right thing, she understood: to let him go his own way.</p><p>"One of many," she said, smiling at last.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. #8 - Clamor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nero has a recurring nightmare.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A nightmare about a bad end avoided. </p><p>CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, aetheric corruption</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>They'd tried to seal the wound but they were too late. His palm pressed against his side yet again, tracing once more the claw marks that had torn through carbonweave and pierced steel made brittle with an overabundance of dark aether. One of the Cloud's minions had slipped his guard while his focus lay elsewhere. </p><p>Stupid, he thought, for such a little thing to pose such a serious problem- but there was no help for it. He was only one man, after all, and he had no gunblade here. </p><p>It was difficult enough defending the clones, let alone himself.</p><p>He was on watch again while his Allagan companions dozed, the three of them sitting back to back to prevent any ambushes. After a moment's deliberation, he removed the service pistol with its short bayonet from his belt and placed it upon the cold tiles at a short distance: just close enough to use it should the need arise.</p><p>Ignoring the burning pain that lingered in his ribs, Nero tol Scaeva stared into the opaque wall of black fog.</p><p>==</p><p>Time had no meaning in the Void. </p><p>There was no need for it here, and any semblance of forward movement into the future, of 'day' and 'night,' had bled one into the other until all that mattered were those brackets of ominous silence between sleep and wakefulness.</p><p>More appropriately: sleep and the sense of danger, that there were starving voidsent within his range of perception meaning to feast upon their aether. He could always, always sense them coming before they could attack. The creatures understood this after a few cycles of fruitless attempts, and they hovered at the edge of his consciousness, their yowled frustration a distant hiss of static noise like a transceiver with a lost signal.</p><p>For once his third eye (still in perfect working order) was good for something.</p><p>==</p><p>He was so, so cold. </p><p>Darkness ate slowly but surely at the edges of his sight while he slept: tunneling and narrowing each time he opened his eyes, until all he could see was a thin sliver of violet-limned space. His entire frame shook uncontrollably, extremities dulled and frostbitten, a dark violet he couldn't feel-- just like the claw marks that had ripped at his torso.</p><p>Frozen blood or crystallization, he couldn't tell. </p><p>One of the clones was saying something to his counterpart, who stood over him with a worried frown knitting her brows. He thought he should understand this tongue, at least somewhat- he'd studied it in his own free time at the Academy, after all. But his mind - torpid with aether sickness and the chill that had sunk itself into his bones as surely as any Ilsabardian winter - could not manage to parse the syllables quickly enough to grasp their meaning. They slid from his memory like fine grains of sand and were lost to the wind.</p><p>There was a deep and throbbing ache in his joints and his stomach twisted at the thought of eating any of his rations, even as a sharp and desperate hunger pang gnawed through his midsection. Something smelled toothsome and unbearably tempting, and it wafted about Doga's slender frame as the Hyur moved to sit next to Unei once again.</p><p>Slowly he eased himself back from them, the pistol in hand, until his back was flush against what he supposed to be a wall of some sort.</p><p>"Nero," she said finally, this time in Common, "will you not join us?"</p><p>It was their aether, he realized. He could smell their aether. He could <em>taste</em> it. They were full of sweet, lovely <em>living aether </em>and his jaw ached from salivating. His throat bobbed, the act of swallowing a torment, as if it were lined with broken glass. </p><p>He tore his eyes away to regard some other half-ruined edifice with a careful and studied indifference as if their concern mattered not a whit.</p><p>"I can keep watch just fine from here, thank you." A quick mental inventory of their brief encounters with the local voidsent and he would able to make his calculations, a task much more easily completed now that he had placed himself outside their reach. The fierce clamor of his stomach receded somewhat and his teeth ached a little less.</p><p>Shrouded in the darkness, Nero tol Scaeva opened the pistol's chamber and counted. There was one bullet left. </p><p>He shut his eyes and slept.</p><p>==</p><p>He was dying.</p><p>The world was black and noise and hideous and he was dying----- no.</p><p>He was <em>changing.</em></p><p>Heat and pressure in his fingertips, twisting his hips, his legs, his spine: something eldritch and hideous shifting just under the surface of his skin, something inhuman, something that was nearly as painful as it was <em>pleasurable</em>.</p><p>His screams ripped from the depths of his chest, teeth aching as they elongated. Carbonweave-gloved hands clenched and spasmed, wicked black claws slicing through them, his bones warping as dark aether ate through him, corroded what was left of his soul until all that remained was that mindless and ravenous hunger.</p><p>His third eye opened, petals of flesh stretching and closing, then stretching again as keratin became black and gelatinous, a yawning abyss,</p><p>and his last conscious, human thought before he turned upon the cowering, horrified clones to devour them was</p><p>
  <em>they didn't save me of course they didn't save me wasn't important enough wasn't good enough never good enough never</em>
</p><p>Black.</p><p>Hunger.</p><p>
  <em>Hunger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hun----</em>
</p><p>~*~</p><p>Nero tol Scaeva awakened to the sound of his own screams.</p><p>Eyes opened and shut wildly, he could see nothing at first, nothing but darkness, and it set the panic animal in his head to yammering. The sound of his breath shuddered in his ears, ragged and hectic, and it took him several moments to realize that the cloying copper taste of blood on his tongue belonged to him - he'd bitten down on his lower lip in the extremity of his night terror. </p><p>He was shaking not from bitter cold but from his own fear.</p><p>His fingers, knuckles aching from the force of his grip, clutched a handful of the bedroll. Legs trembling like a newborn lamb's, he clambered to his feet, gripping the corner of a nearby sandbag for purchase. A brown standard bearing the emblem of the Immortal Flames fluttered weakly in the cold, damp currents of air that stirred down here, amidst the smells of ash and stale water.</p><p>The spires of the Crystal Tower gleamed far in the distance, on the other side of Silvertear Lake, backlit by flashes of ozone and levin from the unstable crystal formations Project Meteor's disastrous end had left in its wake. </p><p>He checked his timepiece to see that the hour was still very early. The war games would begin apace come an hour or so after sunrise, but for now, he was quite sure that he was the only man not abed. </p><p>Which was just as well, he amended with a grimace. His undershirt and smalls, damp with cold sweat, stuck unpleasantly to his body. As he was already awake, he decided he might as well make his way down to the lake to bathe, start a cookfire and make coffee and break his fast, then resume his search. </p><p>Another day to search for the greatest Allagan prize of all, slumbering somewhere beneath this very battlefield. Another day, to tuck his memory of that sordid business in the Tower securely back into its dark and heavily guarded drawer until time eroded the terror to a dulled edge.</p><p>Another day not to consider what had very nearly befallen him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. #9 - Lush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>G'raha Tia/WoL. </p><p>She had always smelled of lavender. NSFW.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>She had always smelled of lavender. A rare variety that only grew in the desert.</p><p>It was the one memory of her G'raha Tia had carried with him, always. The scent of that sachet had lingered in his memories long after the years had passed and she and the others had left him behind, when he had awakened to a crumbling and ruined future. </p><p>The scent was an elusive one but still came to him, now and again, when he thought of her. As though he had only to close his eyes, and find her lingering once again near her bedroll at the lake's edge, gazing up at the stars and clad in only her loose and translucent shift, carefully combing out her hair under the night sky. Another sight that he could behold now only in his mind's eye.</p><p>It was deep in his memories, nestled among the old rose-toned oneiric impressions of night and nostalgia, that she would visit his bed-- as she had tonight.</p><p>He knew it was a dream, of course. She had ever strayed just beyond his reach in his waking hours, like the sun that held the world at arm's length with its rising. But in his dreams he could worship her as fervently as he wished, could make of the slopes and gentle curves of her body a pilgrimage and himself her sole celebrant. </p><p>His lips marked a trail that began at the slope of her hairline; he fancied that she quivered when they trailed, with careful and feather-light deliberation, along the rim of her third eye. The small and delicate jewel captured the moon's watery illumination, shimmering like some fantastically rare and precious pearl. </p><p>A murmur of his name, soft upon her lips, dulcet syllables captured by the fervent attentions of his own, before he continued on his path. Faint sighs and the languorous slide of dewy limbs against throat and torso and waist were his constant companions, her fingers loosing the elaborate arrangement of his robes to strip him bare before tangling in the damp auburn strands of his sidelocks and teasing, gently, at his ears.</p><p>He groaned but made no attempt to keep her from her ministrations, his tail curling upright, every ilm of its fur prickling with his hyperawareness. </p><p>The scent that wafted into his nostrils was sweet and spicy: lavender and chamomile, woven into the strands of sunlight that spilled past slim shoulders and onto the bed, honeyed scents offset by the light tang of the sweat upon her skin. He touched her with reverent care, teasing the peaks of her breasts until they were taut enough to blossom within the heat of his mouth. Trailing his lips along each small freckle and pale scar that graced her ribcage and the mild slope of her stomach. Dipping the tip of his tongue with a delicate touch into her navel until he heard her laugh, shaking and breathless, and soft and deceptively strong hands moved to push him away. Not to be deterred, his lips dragged along the curve of her hip.</p><p>Her legs parted where the warmth of his palms placed themselves upon the smooth expanse of her thighs, as if to impart a secret. He felt the anticipatory shudder that wracked her slender frame, and within the layers of salt and sweetness was another scent he knew well.</p><p>"Raha-" </p><p>His name was a rasped whisper, caught upon the edge of a silent plea. </p><p>"Please," he heard himself whisper.</p><p>An entreaty, he thought. A prayer. He saw the slow and solemn bob of her chin.</p><p>He leaned into her warmth, cradled in the tangle of her legs, braced by the impossible softness that slid over his shoulders like the kiss of fine velvet, and pressed his lips to hers: full and lush and inviting. </p><p>Her blunted nails scraped along his scalp and tangled in his hair and that soft and high-pitched keen she made when his tongue slid between them to taste her-- that was the sound he craved, one she had never made for him in the waking world and which he treasured all the more for its transience, sheltered within the liminal space of his dreams. </p><p>He wrested that sound from her again and again: reveled in it as he lavished his longing upon her, laved his tongue in broad strokes that flickered gently against the small hood at her apex with each pass. Tracing small and teasing circles, before returning to her entrance to lap at that soft and warm and plentiful well. His name was a broken whisper upon the air as he received his communion, palms stroking careful lines from hip to knee. He felt his own need gnawing at him like a hunger, heat and tension he ignored, fearing that to pay obeisance to it now would be to lose this one paltry connection. </p><p>He could feel beneath his hands her oncoming climax: tiny spasms like ripples cast from the skip of a stone across still waters, and he knew what was next: the exultant cry that tore through the stillness of the nightscape shortly before the dream began to dissipate, threads tangled in grasping fingers that would dissolve entirely upon his waking-</p><p>-and wake he did, into the vast and hollow darkness of the Tower aslumber: limbs tangled in the damp sheets of his own small bed, still unbearably stiff, his spend soaking into his smalls and and his arms empty. </p><p>It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. </p><p>He was like unto a man dying of thirst in the midst of water, chasing a mirage.</p><p>The Exarch lay awake, staring sightlessly up into the faceted ceiling, and waited for his heartbeat to resume its normal pace. Inhaling the spicy sweetness of a flower that had gone extinct a century before he had awakened.</p><p><em>Nero tol Scaeva was right,</em> he thought. <em>I am immune neither to time nor regret.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. #10 - Avail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I have always dearly loved a good vintage." In vino, veritas.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>short, sweet, and slightly spicy :3c</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>"Why is it," he murmured, "that we invariably end up on our backs over a bottle of wine?"</p><p>Tucked securely against his side, the Warrior of Light's laugh was a sweet and half-inebriated warble. </p><p>"Because you're using me for my worldly and well-traveled wine cellar. Remember?"</p><p>The Azim Steppe was so remote that there existed almost no light from any neighboring settlements, and the only sound for miles was the occasional faint whuffling noise of a nearby dzo herd left out to free graze. Nero preferred, largely, to surround himself with tools and steel and the other assorted trappings of industry - or, at least, some reasonable facsimile thereof. For example, the small room with his piles of books and drafting desk that he'd moved into her house long months past.</p><p>He'd spent his formative years in the middle of nowhere, had less than fond associations with his boyhood as a result (with one or two notable exceptions), and had estranged himself sufficiently from his former life that he thought he had little care to repeat the experience. That said: there was something to be said for the simplicity of a full stomach and a warm fire.</p><p>Perhaps the steppe folk had the right of it.</p><p>His hand wrapped about the glass neck and he squinted at the label, just barely legible. <em>Lea Monde Valens, </em>it read, <em>1532.</em> "Still working your way through these, I see."</p><p>"Well, yes. I suppose I <em>could</em> sell them to Geguruju for a tidy profit, but I'd feel terribly dishonest."</p><p>Nero upended the bottle and savored the sourness and bracing tang upon his tongue before passing it to her. "You would also be terribly <em>rich</em>."</p><p>"No doubt I would, but-"</p><p>"But you're too bloody honest to swindle a man with more money than sense. That's all right, sweetling, it's what I love about you."</p><p>She tweaked his nose.</p><p>"It's not <em>just</em> that. I'll have you know that I have always dearly loved a good vintage."</p><p>"All this time I had assumed your one true love was tea."</p><p>"You're quite mistaken." She already had the bottle raised to her lips by the time he thought to reach for it again. A long and contented sigh followed the light popping sound of its mouth as the suction was lifted. "...Quite honestly, I would punch Ifrit ten times over for a barrel of Shamani Lohmani's finest La Noscean red."</p><p>Nero raised his brows.</p><p>"Truly, I stand in the presence of the very definition of a well-heeled <em>dilettante</em>. Puncher of eikons. Hobbyist engineer. Healer-"</p><p><em>"Chirurgeon,"</em> she reminded him, a trifle wryly. "Everyone forgets I went to school for that bit, as you'll recall."</p><p>"Mm. Chirurgeon, then." He kissed her temple. The scent of fermented grapes tickled his nostrils. "Last but by all means never least, amateur sommelier."</p><p>She allowed herself a chortle and set the bottle aside, then tilted her chin upwards just enough to return his kiss: a light and careful sensation of pressure against his jawline, rough with fresh stubble. Her lips were warm and slightly damp. </p><p>"Are the others going to miss you at the Wall?" she asked, nuzzling his neck, and Nero felt his heart skip- along with a warmth stealing through his limbs to pool in the base of his stomach, one very distinctly <em>not</em> caused by the wine.</p><p>In truth, he'd promised the deputy president of the Ironworks that he would fly out with a team to troubleshoot one of the malfunctioning perimeter pylons, had already pocketed the fee to do so, and he was in no wise fool enough to attempt to pull the wool over Jessie Jaye's eyes. </p><p>On the other hand, he knew a proposition when he heard one. "I think they can manage without me for the evening."</p><p>"Oh? Excellent." Aurelia drew herself upright and in a single fluid motion she had straddled his waist - settling her weight against him, softness angled in a way that he knew full well she could not fail to notice his interest - and braced her hands along his shoulders. "Because as it happens, I currently find myself in need of a skilled consultant."</p><p>"Do you?"</p><p>"I do," she smiled, all wide-eyed (devious) innocence. She ground firmly against the cradle of his hips in a slow sinuous roll that left him breathless. "Perhaps you might be so kind as to point me in the right direction."</p><p>His hands caught her thighs and stilled them with more exertion than he would have cared to admit. </p><p>"It seems to me you might already have a candidate in mind," he replied with studied nonchalance. "But I am nothing if not the very picture of grace and resourcefulness."</p><p>"And humility," she drawled. </p><p>"Quite. Should I come across this <em>skilled consultant</em> who so perfectly fits your bill, eikon-slayer, I suppose I could let him know you are in need of his services."</p><p>Beneath his grip, muscles flexed and shifted, and the curtain of her hair tumbled over one shoulder as she leaned into his touch. He was rewarded with a strangled little gasp when he repaid her teasing in kind: slim but powerful hips canting forward and up to thrust, and for a moment he found his train of thought utterly derailed by his own friction.</p><p>"Well, if you do find him, pray let him know that I am willing to pay in extraordinarily niche Ilsabardian wines," she whispered against his mouth, and Nero's answering laugh was consumed in a heated kiss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. #11 - Ultracrepidarian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I find it most enlightening."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you, pliny the elder, for your extremely apropos contribution to this fifteen dollar word prompt</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>"There we are," she whispered with a short snip of the clippers. "Just a bit of a trim..."</p><p>There were not many places within the grounds of the Laskaris villa that Aurelia could properly call a haven, but if she had to pick her favorite place on her uncle's property it was the greenhouse. He had had it built for her aunt to preserve the tea roses she loved, along with the other flowers that grew in much warmer climes than the mountains of far northern Ilsabard, but Aunt Marcella seemed to much prefer looking at flowers to tending them.</p><p>Aurelia, who had carefully tended her own small plot back home in Ala Mhigo, was more than happy to spend her term breaks making sure the heating system was functioning as intended and ensuring the soil for each plant had the necessary nutrients to winter them. As a result, the greenhouse had become her domain, which suited her just fine. Plants couldn't criticize her deportment nor her appearance, and she could get as covered in dirt and sweat as she liked with no one to gainsay her.</p><p>She was glad of it today, for it was a rare warm day in early spring and she was preparing the roses for transport. That meant trimming them back into a semblance of order and placing them in the soil she'd spread while making sure the root systems remained intact and inured against any shocks. </p><p>This was hard and sweaty work, and one which required a good deal of concentration and fortitude. </p><p>She exhaled and wiped her hands on the long linen apron she wore over one of her old day frocks, long since stained and soiled, then muddled around on the ground in search of the carbonweave gardener's gloves she'd dug from one of the supply closets. The extra grip would come in handy when she--</p><p>"Mistress Laskaris," a reedy voice echoed at her back. Aurelia paid it little mind, bracing her hands on the rim of the pot. "...Young miss, you have-"</p><p>"Tell them to wait, Cicero," she let out a tiny grunt with the exertion as she hoisted upward, "I'll be in presently."</p><p>"Beg your pardon, young miss, but it won't wait."</p><p>Aurelia rounded on her aunt's groundskeeper, an exasperated reply on her lips, and froze. A tall and immaculately dressed Garlean man stepped forward, looking down his aquiline nose at the weakly protesting servant for one brief glance before giving her a deep and courtly bow.</p><p>"You must be Aurelia," he said, his voice ebullient with false warmth. "Father has heard much of you from your aunt."</p><p>She stared blankly.</p><p>"I," he announced, "am Sebastian wir Acisculus."</p><p>The haughty expression he wore told her everything she needed to know. She managed, only just, to keep her dismayed groan internal-- <em>wir</em> meant he was at least related to Gens Galvus by marriage if nothing else, which meant he would expect her to show him due obeisance for that alone. </p><p><em>My thanks, Aunt Marcella. </em>A stuffy and self-important lordling to dog her heels, just what she'd wanted while she was trying to work.</p><p>Another grunt had the base of the pot braced against her thigh, and she thrust out a filthy hand in his direction. "Aurelia jen Laskaris," she said. "Pray excuse my appearance. Aunt hadn't told me to expect visitors."</p><p>"Your aunt is not to be faulted. She didn't know I would be coming today," Sebastian said, his nose wrinkling as he took her proffered hand- and, before she could stop him, had pressed his lips to the back of it. Somehow she managed not to yank her wrist from his grasp before he dropped it and reached into his coat for a handkerchief to wipe the soil from his fingers. "My servants and I were in the area and I thought to indulge my curiosity."</p><p>"One presumes you now find said curiosity fully sated."</p><p>"Might I ask what you are about?"</p><p>She leveled a steady, faintly disdainful gaze upon the man- more than enough to indicate she thought him at least partially witless. "His lordship, I am sure, has seen a garden before."</p><p>"Ah," he coughed. "Yes, so I have. I did not expect to see a young gentlewoman of my peerage tending it personally."</p><p>Shaking her head, Aurelia turned her back on him and in the most undignified waddle in her arsenal began to lug the pot towards the open bed.</p><p>"I'll get that for you," and without waiting for her assent he had plucked the pot from her fingers, ignoring the annoyed scowl that crossed her features as he carried it to the edge of the soil and set it on the grass. "I fancy myself something of an expert botanist, you know."</p><p>"Do you," she said, flatly. He was removing his soiled gloves with a smirk, one he turned upon her with an uptilt of his chin.</p><p>"I do. When I studied at the Imperial Magitek Academy, I thought it might be pleasant to take up a hobby." When Aurelia didn't react to the obvious namedrop, he announced, "I took some courses in horticulture, and if I do say so myself, it left me with a renewed respect and understanding for such matters."</p><p>"I suppose one must have hobbies."</p><p>"For instance, did you realize that perennials cannot grow properly in alkaloid soil?"</p><p>With some effort, Aurelia managed to keep a straight face.</p><p>"Lord Sebastian," she said, "I find it quite interesting that you attended the Academy. What did you say was your field of study?"</p><p>"Engineering, of course."</p><p>"Not bioengineering?"</p><p>"Certainly not," he scoffed. "Very little glory to be had in such things, you know."</p><p>Aurelia rolled her eyes, turned her back to him, and pulled on the gloves she had tucked in her apron pocket. Once they were secured, she reached for her spade.</p><p>"If you attended the Academy and dabbled, as you say, in horticulture," she said, "then you would have encountered the guest lecturer there, Philetus lux Merenda."</p><p>"Well, I-"</p><p>"Master Merenda was very good friends with Midas nan Garlond, the previous Academy provost," she punctuated this statement with a deep and satisfying thrust of her spade into the edge of the potted soil, "and together they created a summer exchange program between the Academy and the Valetudinarium. He gives lectures as part of the optional curriculum, and likewise Cato nan Mammula offers in-depth capstone bioengineering lectures."</p><p>"You have taken them yourself, I assume?"</p><p>"Oh," Aurelia said airily, "for the past two summer terms, in fact. I find them quite enlightening. One must always have a thorough grounding in one's area of expertise and review all options. Don't you think?"</p><p>"Yes," he said. "Of course."</p><p>"There is a saying," she braced one hand against the edge of the pot for purchase, "of which Master Merenda is quite fond. An old Ilsabardian saying he attributes to a historian of the old republic-- in Old Ilsabardian, naturally. Do you know what it is?"</p><p>"I am certain -- though perhaps you might remind me."</p><p>Aurelia paused long enough to stare him in the eye and brush a wisp of forelock from her third eye with the back of one gloved hand, her golden coiffure as sweaty and dirty and disheveled as the rest of her. "<em>Ne supra crepidam sutor iudicaret,"</em> she said. "I assume that shouldn't need a translation, for a learned man such as yourself."</p><p>"Madam, are you implying-"</p><p>"It does? Why, how curious. My governess was quite emphatic that a good grounding in the classics was vital for a basic imperial education." She shrugged. "Well, I suppose I can enlighten you. 'The cobbler should not judge beyond his shoe.' It means that one should not speak of matters upon which he has no understanding."</p><p>Two pinpoints of hectic blush the color of rose petals had appeared upon his prominent cheekbones. Aurelia offered a smile that did not reach her dark blue eyes.</p><p>"I find it a most apt sentiment," she said coolly, "and one well-applied to life in the modern world."</p><p>His hands clenched at his sides and without a word he rounded on one heel and stormed back towards the peristyle, her aunt's household keeper at his heels frantically offering refreshment.</p><p>She watched them go, laughed, and turned back to her work. She still had a baker's dozen of roses left to plant.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. #12 - Tooth and Nail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Let me be a beast.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>very short and very NSFW, but it's an entry :v</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They barely made it through the door before their clothes were coming off again. </p>
<p>The first time they had ended up in the proximity of a bed, it had been that run-down pay by the week room in the House of Splendors' boarding concern in the Toll. And they hadn't touched it. They had barely deigned to notice its existence in the heat of their anger, the coals fanned over slow increments of time until his own insolent words had finally set them alight. He'd pinned her against the wall and he had her there, without tenderness or ceremony, and their encounters since had lost none of their passion, only changed its face, like the wind weathered rocks as time sifted sand-grains through its invisible hourglass.</p>
<p>Aurelia noticed only as she was collapsing onto the bed beneath him that she had lost her smalls somewhere on the journey down her stairs, and was only vaguely surprised to realize she couldn't care less.</p>
<p>They didn't bother with light. It was the two of them in the darkness, heavy breathing and the rustling sound of fabric as it was shed the intermittent beats between that sensation of drowning in heat and need. She could only just see the outline of jaw to shoulder to wrist as he all but ripped his linen undershirt away.</p>
<p>She found herself briefly charmed by the soft and disheveled fall of his hair under the moon's watery illumination, cast through the edges and curves of the stairwell, before he returned to her. His lean and wiry frame stretched catlike against hers from point to point, hips rolling and hands on her skin.</p>
<p>Like her, he was bare as his nameday, and just as impatient. Rigid heat surged between her legs with each rocking motion, insistent and alive. She felt the throbbing of his pulse where he rut against her, his length nestled against slick and sensitive petals like a promise, and that thrill of anticipation coiled itself through that matrix of tension inside her as it did every time. <br/><br/>It felt like diving from the top of a cliff only to be caught mid-flight, a singular and exhilarating moment of freefall. They moved together gracelessly, limbs entwined: a punctuation to ragged moans and the whispers of idle nonsense.<br/><br/>He wasted no time in this moment and she was grateful for it; he had only to adjust the angle of his hips and he was <em>in</em>, and the world was pressure and heat and delightful <em>burning</em> where her body stretched to accommodate his girth. She all but yowled at the sensation, like a she-coeurl come into season, feral and mindless of anything but the desire to mate. <br/><br/><em>To eat, to fight, to breed. </em></p>
<p>The words echoed unbidden: a whisper of memory and an unwelcome intrusion.</p>
<p>
  <em>Lesser beasts snap and howl at each other for this.</em>
</p>
<p>But instead of the self-loathing that had come before, she felt only defiance. Let me be a beast, then, for these few short hours, she thought. Her legs wrapped around his waist and there were teeth at her neck and a deep growl in her ear. <br/><br/>Let me glory in this. Let me <em>revel</em> in it as you once did. Let me be a <em>beast</em>. </p>
<p>And as quickly as it had shown its face the thought was forgotten, drowned in the simple pleasure of coupling. </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. #13 - Constraint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"It's getting late."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a deleted scene, so to speak, from my ongoing WoL origin fic, "reborn by fire." seemed on point for the make-up prompt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“A bit to the left!” Aurelia called. “No, your <em> other </em>left--- yes, there you go. Hold it in place.”</p><p>Keveh’to watched the drape of the banner take a more graceful shape over the gate entrance as the three men in their patchwork armor worked in tandem to brace the fabric while a fourth secured its weight with rope. The betrothal ceremony was set for later in the evening, and most of the village was aflutter with anticipation.</p><p>“Bring those garlands up here!”</p><p>He vaulted nimbly up the stairs and made the jump to the scarp, grinning insolently at her and bowing while passing her an armful of ivy creeper vines and woven wildflowers. As the volunteers made their way to another section of the wall with more of the dyed hemp cloth, a soft grass-green per the wedding customs of the Shroud, the pair busied themselves with hanging the decorations with wooden pegs and woven rope.</p><p>“Any luck with the authorization for our new friend?”</p><p>He let out a frustrated sigh. “No. Commander Heuloix was to bring it before the Hearers’ Council two days ago but it seems that Ixal incursions in the northern Shroud have occupied their attention.”  </p><p>“And in the meantime, we’ve got a man on the run from imperial hit squads in need of their protections <em> and </em>he’s overstayed that promise I made to Frieda by nearly four days now.” Aurelia tugged savagely on the end of the scratchy rope as she secured it in place. “It’s one piece of paper, isn’t it? Can’t he just sign it?”</p><p>Keveh’to’s smile was bitter.</p><p>“That’s just how things are around here,” he said. “Few would stick their necks out for an Ala Mhigan. There’s plenty of folk in the Shroud with long memories.”</p><p>“Memories of what?”</p><p>“The Autumn War.”</p><p>Aurelia frowned. She vaguely recalled reading about that, but it had been so long ago that she had forgotten most of the details. “That was… sixty years ago?”</p><p>“Closer to a century.”</p><p>“...People have grudges over a war that happened a <em> century </em>ago? That’s mad!”</p><p>Keveh’to arched a brow. “Your people still hold grudges over wars that drove them out of their lands literal Ages past. That is far more recent.”</p><p>“That’s…” After a moment she threw up her hands. “Fine, all right. It’s still ridiculous.”</p><p>“So long as no one knows where he went, he’ll be safe. And as for overstaying his welcome? Goody Miller’s already half in love with him,” Keveh’to snorted. “I’d be surprised if Rauffe weren’t jealous.”</p><p>“Speaking of jealousy.” Her gaze traveled over the wall and down towards the bustle below, where other groups of people were busy erecting the pavilion where Hearer Ewain would have them exchange their vows of betrothal, and the long tables for the communal feast -- she could smell the richness of food in the cookfires. “I hope Noline appreciates all this fuss and palaver the village’s put together for her while she’s sneaking off with her bandit.”</p><p>“Are you still on that?”</p><p>“It’s not <em> right</em>, Keveh’to.”</p><p>“Aurelia-”</p><p>“I know, I know! I’ll not breathe a word. I already promised I wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to feel bad about it. I’ve always been a poor liar, and I don’t want to be privy to something like this.”</p><p>“Trevantioux’s love life isn’t your business. Or mine.”</p><p>She fixed him with a helpless stare - unable to explain herself in a way that he would find satisfactory - and finally, she shook her head. </p><p>“Forget I said anything,” she said. “Let’s finish this up. The hour is getting late and Ewain’s ceremony starts at dusk and I’m not half ready.”</p><p>“I’ll take over here and get Laurentius and Mariustel to help if I must. Go get ready.”<br/>
<br/>
"If you're certain-"<br/>
<br/>
"I am." He shooed her. "You're already in Ewain's poor graces, no need to give him excuses."</p><p>Keveh'to watched her go: standing a full head of height above the women of the village and even many of the men. Tall and slim, with the unconsciously graceful bearing of a lady's learned posture and her hair spilling like sunlight over her shoulders-- he could have picked her out of a crowd of hundreds, he thought, just by watching her back. </p><p>The image in his mind's eye of soldiers dragging her from a cabin had not left him since she had described what had happened in his absence, and it sent anxiety's insectoid feet to scrabbling about his memory all over again. Things had turned out well in the end, as she had said, but it very well could have gone wrong. She could have been captured. She could have been <em>killed</em>.<br/>
<br/>
He vowed silently not to let her leave on her own again - not while the threat of imperial soldiers remained an active one.<br/>
<br/>
He did not realize he was holding his breath until she had disappeared from sight.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. #14 - Part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Julian rem Laskaris was weak.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>another story about family. i'm afraid this one is not happy. </p><p>cws for minor character death, lore-consistent racism, alcoholism, and depression.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"I'll save you, Vittora," Julian rem Laskaris whispered. "I will."</p><p>He sat as he had for days, clutching desperately at the hands enfolded in his own, so pale and wasted they were nearly translucent. She lay still and pliant, her brow cool and clammy and - strangely, he thought - it was damp. He did not realize at first that it was with his tears. He had duties, but he cared nothing for them at this moment. Neither Rabanastre nor the castrum would cease to exist while he tended to his family. The tribunus had not left his wife's bedside in a near sennight.</p><p>His brilliant composer, his nightingale, was dying. She had drifted into deeper and longer periods of sleep as she weakened, as time had worn on, and the warmer climes of the Estersands had done little to improve her condition. And now that she was near the end, she had lapsed into this dreamless coma. The final sleep, the chirurgeons had told him, and Julian thought it quite apt.</p><p>For there would never be the like of Vittora cen Remianus upon this star, ever again. Not for him. Not in this lifetime, not while he drew breath.</p><p><em>If you have goodbyes to say,</em> they had told him, <em>'twould be best to see them said now. </em></p><p>He only distantly heard the sounds of his young daughter's wails for her mother, muffled as they were against her governess' apron. Once again he found himself grateful for L'haiya dus Eyahri's steady presence and the rock it had been in their household, for being able to care for the girl where he knew he could not, even though she was the only child he and Vittora had borne together.</p><p>Julian could feel her gaze boring into his back. He had looked into that small face only once, and was met with a silent plea for strength and comfort. She had reached for him, and he had turned his back, and he had refused to look again. Aurelia had her mother's eyes: those deep dark fathomless pools of indigo blue.</p><p>Already, he couldn't bear the sight of them.</p><p>"I'll save you," he repeated. With the greatest care he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them to her knuckles, then held one of her palms against his unshaven cheek: rough with gold and brown stubble. "I'll find a way. I'll find someone who can heal you. I swear it."</p><p>His attention remained fixed upon the figure in the bed, counting silent beats to the tortured sound of his wife's breaths, living upon the stuttering rise and fall of her chest.</p><p>He could see nothing of her face in repose through his tears. </p><p>~*~</p><p>He had left Rabanastre for Ala Mhigo. It had been a demotion to do so, but Julian had cared only to leave his grief behind.</p><p>It had followed him all the same. His daughter might have the look of a Laskaris but she was every ilm her mother's daughter, and as she grew the ghost that haunted his halls only became more and more corporeal: a child with his honeyed tresses and his wife's luminous eyes, rebuking him in silence like a vengeful shade as she grew into her majority.</p><p>She had befriended her governess' young kinsman, and that he had allowed- he understood the value of allowing her friends and privately felt that a sense of noblesse oblige might not go awry- but even that had to come to an end, as the shadow of Solus zos Galvus' war machine fell upon them as readily as anyone else within the Empire's reach.</p><p>But instead of accepting matters as they were the girl had tried to go after them, had made a very public scene of it, and it was not until he had engaged in a furious lecture that he realized how worried he had been. Supper that night was an acutely uncomfortable affair, place settings slammed onto the table with angry emphasis and food all but untouched by both father and daughter as they sat across from each other in a tense and stony silence - neither willing to bend to the other's will. </p><p>At length, the former could stand it no longer. The chair scraped against varnished beechwood flooring as Julian rem Laskaris gained his feet.</p><p>"I am retiring. I find my present company exhausting and I have a great deal of paperwork I must finish before cockcrow," he said, his voice flat with restrained ire. "Elle, pray send Cook my regards. The meal was quite fine, merely do I have no appetite. She can put my portion in the cold-pantry and have it brought to me before she retires for the evening."</p><p>"Yes, my lord, of course. Mistress Aurelia-"</p><p>"-will finish her meal and spend the rest of the evening in her bedchamber." Aurelia's chin snapped upwards, her expression incredulous. Julian continued on, undaunted: "And shall remain ensconced within the grounds for the next sennight. Perhaps more attention paid to her studies will impart the wisdom that her association with your young kinsman clearly has not."</p><p>Those dark blue eyes came alight with her fury and he did not miss her governess' wince. The girl might have become less outspoken and more circumspect over the years as her lessons began to shape her deportment, but it was clear she was not about to accept her punishment as meekly as he had expected or hoped- </p><p>-and how<em> very much</em> like her mother she looked, he thought bitterly, at that moment. She stood to face him, hands balled into fists at her sides, lower lip quivering but too angry to cry.</p><p>"I am not one of your <em>cohorts</em>," she began, "to wait with bated breath upon your every command-"</p><p><em>"Sit down,"</em> Julian barked, suddenly every inch the commanding officer, fists slamming upon the table. She jumped, the spoon in her hand barely missing the rim of her soup bowl to clatter upon the muslin-covered surface. "I am still your <em>father</em>, girl, and you will respect that authority while you remain under my roof."</p><p>"That is a laughable assertion," she spat, willowy frame screaming defiance, "given the only time I ever speak to you at any length is when you see fit to hand down some manner of <em>discipline-</em>"</p><p>His expression was akin to a thundercloud on the horizon. "Young lady-"</p><p>"-upon a matter in which you are <em>barely</em> versed!"</p><p>"You are on <em>extremely</em> dangerous-"</p><p>"Mother might not have agreed with me either, but she would have at least understood why I tried to go find him," she cried. "Would that I had been left with <em>her</em>, and not <em>you!</em>"</p><p>Something very like pain flashed through his chest. They were the words of a child, reckless and spoken in her anger- but it hardly mattered. Whether she realized it or not, her words had struck true. Slowly, as if physically wounded, Julian turned away. He held his hands clasped behind his back as if at parade rest, but he could feel how they trembled.</p><p>"I am going to wash my hands," he said, his words cold and clipped and soft, "and L'haiya will have the rest of your meal brought to you. You are not to leave your quarters until further notice."</p><p>"Father, I-"</p><p>Without another word, he quit the room, back stiff and straight. He did not heed her anguished sob nor the clatter of running footsteps.</p><p>=</p><p>It was nearly two hours later that he heard the measured rap upon his study door. </p><p>He sagged forward in his chair, face buried in his hands, an open decanter and snifter at his side, and a gilt-edged picture frame on the desk in front of him. L'haiya shook her head as if to dispel the vision.</p><p>"Julian," she said in a low voice.</p><p>Without lifting his head from the cradle of his hands he murmured, "I assume she is sleeping."</p><p>"Yes. She'll not be leaving the house even with a chaperone until further notice, per your orders." </p><p>She didn't bother to hide the disapproval she felt, and after a long moment, the Garlean's chin lifted ever so slightly, just enough to fix her with a cool and challenging glower. His pale grey irises were bloodshot, and strands of platinum blond hair hung low over his third eye and the edge of his brow, brushing at drink-flushed cheeks.</p><p>"You don't approve of my actions."</p><p>"I have not approved of your actions where she is concerned for a very long time, my lord."</p><p>Julian uttered a short, cold laugh. </p><p>" 'Tis bold of you, to censure me while addressing me as a superior in the same breath. Boldness was ever your curse, Elle." He reached for the gem-cut bottle and tilted it against the lip of his snifter. Golden liquid splashed against the sides of the glass. "You know full well what I could do to you simply for speaking to me in such a fashion."</p><p>"With all due respect, my lord, you did not retain my services so that I might bow and scrape to your whims. You have underlings aplenty." Her hands bunched into fistfuls of her skirts. "Vittora was my friend long before you were my employer and I promised her I would look after <em>both</em> of you."</p><p>"I do not require a lecture from a savage," he slurred, in tones both petulant and caustic. Her lips thinned with anger.</p><p>"You are deep in your cups and thus I will overlook the insult this once."</p><p>"That I am 'in my cups' is the only reason I have to countenance your insolence." </p><p>"Then I'm afraid you shall have to countenance it further, because I've come to do what Vittora asked of me," L'haiya retorted, "and speak to you as if we were peers- if only for this moment. I do so in full acceptance of the consequences should you feel they are warranted."</p><p>The words hung between them like an omen. </p><p>For a moment the tension from the dining room returned- but this time, Julian did not rise to it. He lifted his glass and drank, grimacing at the numbness and heat from the alcohol, and L'haiya saw for the first time how much silver there was at his temples, how deeply sunken his eyes had become. He looked more like his older brother now than ever.</p><p>At last the tribunus exhaled and set the glass back on the desk. It left a wet ring against the varnish, one he didn't seem to notice.</p><p>"Very well," he said. "Speak your piece. I shall decide the merit of it."</p><p>"I don't think you should need me to tell you this but it seems someone must. You are neglecting your duty to your daughter, Julian, and <em>you are failing her.</em>"</p><p>That got his attention. His hand froze halfway to the neck of the decanter and his eyes snapped upwards, dark with incredulous anger. L'haiya crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his scowl with an unbending stare of her own. </p><p>"She isn't always the perfect picture of good behavior - no child is - but surely you have not failed to notice how very hard she tries to earn your approval. It will not be so very long before she no longer wishes to seek it. If you would have her speak to you with respect, she must be shown respect in turn."</p><p>"She is a child!"</p><p>"<em>Aurelia</em> is <em>sixteen summers</em>, Julian. She could well be considered an adult, and for many purposes as far as the Empire is concerned, she would be."</p><p>"That you would even suggest-" </p><p>"The viceroy, in recent memory, has spoken to her with more warmth and familiarity. The <em>viceroy</em>, Julian! And it was by <em>form letter,</em> to commend her for her qualification to sit <em>entrance exams!</em> As a representative of the province! What do you even <em>know</em> about your own daughter these days? When was the last time you asked her about her hobbies?" L'haiya snapped. "Or discussed anything with her besides the food at table, or what arrived for you in the morning post?"</p><p>He sputtered, jaw slack: astounded at the woman's incredible gall as much as her words.</p><p>"I realize that you kept me on explicitly to be her governess and prepare her for her station in life as a citizen of the Empire, and I have filled that duty as best as I am able. But I am not her mother, Julian. And you cannot continue to shirk your responsibility to your own child and expect her to do aught save resent you." </p><p>"This will not-"</p><p>"She needs you to be her <em>father</em>, not her commanding officer."</p><p>"I shall think on it," he muttered.</p><p>"You should <em>act</em>, not <em>think-</em>"</p><p>"<em>Now</em> you are overstepping your place. <em>L'haiya</em>." Julian's warning growl froze her words on her lips and he saw the veils drop back over her eyes again, now that she had been reminded of the social chasm between them. Anger overwhelmed him for a brief moment before it conceded defeat to despair: that old lurking and most toxic of friends.</p><p>He slumped forward in his chair and reached for his decanter.</p><p>"My apologies," the Miqo'te said, each of her words edged with ice. "I had thought you might like to know where matters stand. Before you lose your daughter as well as your wife."</p><p>She quit the room, and he found solace once more in the burn against his throat.</p><p>~*~</p><p>He did not speak to the girl then or any time in the weeks afterward. </p><p>He didn't know how. </p><p>Unwilling to offer forgiveness to his child for her harsh words, or to beg her forgiveness for his own inability to be a father to her in return, he could but watch as they drifted ever farther apart. They became as silent ships passing in the night with sails ghostly and unfurled. She continued to bring his post and his evening coffee, and he took it with a cursory word of thanks. Beyond that small interaction, they did not speak. </p><p><em>You are failing your daughter, Julian,</em> L'haiya said in the halls of his mind, and beyond his affronted anger at a servant addressing him in such an unacceptably familiar way - to his own sensibilities, at least - he knew that she was right.</p><p>He <em>was</em> failing her. It was easier to keep the girl at arm's length, to treat her as he would have treated one of his administrative staff. To issue discipline in the way he might have issued an order. Far easier to do that than to look upon her and think of her as she had been, only to fancy that he saw Vittora staring back. </p><p>He had thought that time might dull the loss, but he felt it as keenly now as he had then. If only she hadn't left him behind, but she had, and a part of him had died with her. It had gone into the grave, laid alongside her in her coffin like an offering to a god, and left only the pathetic, spiritless creature that he was now. His routine was unbearably dull but bearably tedious: waking and working and eating and sleeping, day to day to day. </p><p>The truth of the matter - one Julian rem Laskaris bitterly accepted as his lot - was simple.</p><p>He was weak.</p><p>He had <em>always</em> been weak. He had been weak-willed as a boy, and as a son, and as a soldier, and he had proven no better as a father. He knew that he was weak.</p><p>But he could not feel the drive nor desire to change what he was. And in this moment, facing down the Resistance skirmishers, calling orders to protect the supply line -- losing himself in his work as he had done since the day he had put his wife in the ground, Julian rem Laskaris failed to see the sniper from atop the high and windswept crag.</p><p>Nor did he see the arrow that pierced his throat.</p><p>His last memory as his body went cold, Garlean blood spilling onto foreign sand, was of the color of his daughter's eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. #15 - Ache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some fluff and backstory, briefly featuring one play-acting ascian grandpa</p><p>(fun fact: aurelia's father did take a rank demotion to transfer from the IVth to the XIVth as previously stated, however pilus prior and tribunus militum share the 'rem' title!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How fares the matter we discussed in missives previous?" </p><p>Gaius van Baelsar paused, cleared his throat, and scanned the itinerary tablet a subordinate had passed to him. Solus zos Galvus was known to make unannounced visits to all the provinces when it suited him, but this was the first such visit the Emperor had made to Ala Mhigo since its surrender to imperial forces. Were the full truth of the matter to be known, it appeared he was finally starting to feel the weight of his advanced years. A lung ague had confined him to the palace early in the year, preventing him from attending the Magitek Academy's annual spring gala (wherein it was his tradition to personally address the crop of each year's graduating students) for the first time in over two decades. </p><p>'Twas to be expected---although, Gaius suspected, that frailty was mostly physical. The keen focus of those sharp gold-hazel eyes had not dulled. Whatever else he might be, the old goat still had all of his wits about him. Thus, the legatus did not dally. </p><p>"All is proceeding apace, Your Radiance. Reports from our forward scouts lead my tribunes to believe we can muster all forces necessary to spearhead the campaign within the next nine months. Much of Mor Dhona is either uninhabited or ruled by beast tribes." Gaius offered a laconic shrug. "They are not like to create any particular impediment."</p><p>"I imagine their eikons might provide some small hindrance," Solus said wryly.</p><p>"As you say, Your Radiance. However, lacking any forewarning, they would not have time to see to their defenses before we take the region around Silvertear Lake. We can establish a staging ground in Mor Dhona and sweep south. Frumentarium reports show the Eorzeans lack a unified large-scale force with which to resist the full might of an imperial legion. Ala Mhigo was the source of much of their military might, and with it now annexed as a province, the other city-states should fall quickly. Provided all goes according to plan, most if not all Eorzea should be under imperial control by this time next year."</p><p>"One can hope. Now, for the schedule."</p><p>"Yes, Your Radiance. There's an inspection of the Velodyna installation by transport scheduled for half noon tomorrow. After our return to the city, dining with the Thavnairian trade minister and several local merchants and assorted nobles."</p><p>"Ah, yes. Helpful turncoats, all," Solus zos Galvus harrumphed, shifting in his seat. "I suppose putting in an appearance and speaking a few pleasantries will keep them content enough. Shall there be any of our own in attendance other than yourself and your officers?"</p><p>"Unlikely."</p><p>"Very good. I should like to speak with them each in their turn if possible."</p><p>An order, not a request. "Of course, Your Radiance."</p><p>==</p><p>"My lord, you are still indisposed-"</p><p>Julian rem Laskaris shoved L'haiya's hands away with an annoyed grunt. "Enough, Elle. I don't need your mothering," he said. "And it hardly matters. An invitation to dine with the Emperor at the viceroy's request means my presence is required, not <em>requested</em>."</p><p>Aurelia worried at her lower lip, watching the pain twist her father's face as he braced himself upon the crutches and tried to shift his weight a third time. He'd broken his leg last month when a bit of scaffolding at the new military installation along the river had collapsed during a routine inspection. Although he had been bedridden less than a sennight, he was not yet authorized to return to the full scope of his duties and she knew it rankled him. </p><p>His temper was such that he was not like to see her interference kindly either, but she'd rather he yell at her than L'haiya. At least in her case, she could yell back.</p><p>"Aurelia," L'haiya began sharply when she stepped forward, but she went ignored. Aurelia's arm slipped under her father's to wrap about his shoulders and beneath her touch, she felt him stiffen in surprise.</p><p>"Off with you, girl. What I said for your governess goes for you also. Leave me be."</p><p>"Father, the cushions are too deep for you to stand without help. You won't get enough leverage to keep your balance-"</p><p>"I know what I said!" he barked, but other than a surprised flinch, Aurelia didn't budge. "Young lady, do <em>not</em> ignore me."</p><p>"If you don't accept my help, father, then you'll never leave the sofa. You'll be stuck here all night and I cannot imagine his lordship the viceroy will find that an acceptable excuse for failing to appear at the palace. His Radiance certainly will not." As usual, he couldn't look her in the eyes- although her blunt assessment seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. The tips of his ears were pink but otherwise, he made no response. "Elle, can we have a bath drawn for Father? In the downstairs room so he'll not have to navigate the stairs. It will be more quickly done."</p><p>Mirth twinkled in the governess' eyes but she managed to keep a straight face. </p><p>"Of course, young mistress," she drawled. "Will that be all?"</p><p>"Mayhap we might have Sazha fetch his dress uniform downstairs. I think Clopas can help him dress once he's out of the bath."</p><p>"I shall see to it."</p><p>"Elle," Julian protested, "she does not give the orders around here. I do."</p><p>That assertion went unheeded as the woman immediately crossed the hall and vanished from sight. In a moment there was the loud and rushing sound of running water as it rattled through the wall pipes. </p><p>"Elle, I was talking to you!"</p><p>After a moment, L'haiya poked her head back through the open door. "Apologies, my lord," she called, "but it's quite difficult to hear over the bath. If you've another request I'm afraid you'll need to speak up."</p><p>Julian scowled but said nothing, and after a brief pause, they both heard the door snick shut. This time when his daughter hoisted, he went with her until he stood - somewhat shakily - on his good leg and drew the crutches in, checking their counterbalance.</p><p>"Well, father, and now you shall be prepared on time."</p><p>"I would have been <em>prepared</em> in any case," he said gruffly. "I said I was fine, and so I am. You should not have attempted to gainsay your-"</p><p>"Should I have sent your regrets to Lord van Baelsar after all, father? If you are too indisposed to wash properly let alone attend a dinner with the Emperor, I am quite certain he will accept it- or mayhap His Radiance might deign to call upon us while you lie in your sickbed."</p><p>This was a trick she had learned from L'haiya - needling him while remaining outwardly respectful - and it still surprised her every time it worked. <em>Your lord father is easier to manage than you think,</em> she had said. <em>Like a fly. Honey, child, not vinegar.</em></p><p>Not that Father needed to know about that conversation.</p><p>He squinted at her and with some difficulty, she bit back a snicker. </p><p>"If you weren't thirteen summers yet, you stubborn little chit," was Julian rem Laskaris' answering growl before he turned his back on the girl and began to limp, with a pathetic sort of dignity, towards the downstairs washroom. Just as Aurelia had bid. "Next time I'll thank you not to countermand me in front of the help. You're not too old to be switched for your cheek, girl."</p><p>There was no heat in that threat whatsoever. "Of course not, father."</p><p>He knew by her tone she was humoring him. Her even tone was met with a glower that reminded her remarkably of Sazha, when he'd sulk over losing one of their games.</p><p>"I don't need your help or anyone else's to bathe myself."</p><p>"In that case, father, please let us know when you're done. One of us can call upon Clopas to see to the shaving while you dress," she said placidly. "I'll prepare some tea while you bathe. Is there aught else I might have missed?"</p><p>Her father only made a low-pitched grunt before the door slammed shut behind him.<br/><br/>~*~</p><p>"I'm fine."</p><p>"No, you're not." Her hands were on his upper back, probing gently, smooth and slightly cool. "I rather doubt you've done yourself any permanent harm, but you should consider avoiding strenuous work. No more work on the new project <em>or</em> the Red Baron until you've fully recovered this time."</p><p>"It's a pulled muscle, eikon-slayer. I've had plenty worse. Five years ago I would have slept this off and-" Nero grunted in discomfort as her knuckles rolled over a tender spot near his spine. She didn't even flinch. "...Perhaps it's lingered a day or two past what I expected initially but I told you <em>I am fine."</em></p><p>"Of course you are," the Warrior of Light said, a little too agreeably. Something about that mild, placid tone set his teeth on edge. </p><p>"You are not my mother. Stop <em>humoring</em> me."</p><p>"I'll stop humoring you when you stop sulking like an overgrown child."</p><p>"I don't have to suffer this <em>indignity</em>," the engineer growled. "Let me up. I have work to do."</p><p>"And let you injure yourself all over again? Out of the question."</p><p>"Seven <em>hells</em>, woman-"</p><p>"No," Aurelia said firmly. "That's final. Complain all you like, but you're not getting anywhere near the G-Warrior until your back is improved. Not even for maintenance."</p><p>He made a loud and angry harrumph into his pillows.</p><p>"Who let <em>Garlond</em> name it, anyroad," Nero groused. "What a bloody ridiculous title. I'd have given it a <em>proper</em> name. Something that would have really left an impression."</p><p>"Oh?" He flinched sharply when she found a tender spot, his curse bitten out behind a loud hiss of pain. She paused and gently rubbed his shoulder in apology. "Like what? Dazzle me with your first impression, Scaeva."</p><p>"Obviously I'm not going to be able to think of anything while you're <em>cracking every bone in my spinal column</em>," he grumbled. "But it would've been something a damned sight more imaginative than <em>G-Warrior</em>."</p><p>"Really? My goodness. You may safely color me hypothetically impressed."</p><p>Those sharp blue eyes narrowed until he was squinting at her- or making a valiant attempt at it. </p><p>"...Are you trying to be funny?"</p><p>"I wouldn't dream of it." A beat of silence followed by a huffy sigh, and Aurelia laughed. She'd switched her attention to the juncture of his shoulders and neck, pressing with her fingertips in small and careful circular motions. "Far be it from me to lecture, but I am fair certain the reason you could shake this off with minimal attention five years past is because you were younger and in peak physical shape."</p><p>"I am <em>still</em> in peak physical shape," Nero retorted, no small measure of offense implicit in the words.</p><p>"That is very much up for debate, but regardless, maybe <em>don't</em> go clambering up three-thousand-year-old Allagan broadcasting antennae by yourself in future? Just for a sennight or so? You're not as young as you used to be."</p><p>Nero sighed, this time with rather more regret. </p><p>"Don't bloody remind me."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. #16 - Lucubration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I made you smile, didn't I?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>whatever you think that word means you're probably wrong LOL</p><p>anyway, some good old hurt/comfort set in the aftermath of 5.0, sometime before 5.1 so spoilers for that. also some body horror-adjacent stuff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>"Nero?"</p><p>The query was so soft that he might not have heard it had he not noticed that the strong and steady rhythm of her hips had stilled in their dance. Mind half-locked in a haze of lust, the twinge of initial impatience he had felt faded when he saw the look in her eye.</p><p>Nero let his grasp upon her thighs go slack and reluctantly allowed his senses to return to the present. The ceruleum lamp on the sideboard had not guttered out; its low light at her back haloed the wild tangle of her hair and the slopes and curves of her from head to hips like a cartographer's draft. Her skin was aglow with sweat from their lovemaking.</p><p>But she looked troubled, and that faraway expression - her heart wasn't in it. Not really.</p><p>Breaths still shuddered from his lungs with the hammering of his heart, and his question was less asked than panted.</p><p>"Something on your mind?" </p><p>Shoulders heaving from her exertion, Aurelia had managed to lift her head- wearily, as though the effort had sapped her strength- to utter his name. But now, with his attention focused upon her rather than the act, she looked hesitant. </p><p>"I just..." </p><p>The movement of the musculature in her throat was only just visible, flexing as she swallowed. He lay still, his heart resuming its normal cadence moment by moment.</p><p>"Go on," he coaxed.</p><p>"I... no. Maybe later."</p><p>"Not later, now."</p><p>"No. This isn't the time," she rasped. "For either of us."</p><p>Nero, always one with a penchant for close observation, would not be deterred; her worry nagged at him in the same way a perceived flaw in a blueprint would have done if he had left it alone. His blunted nails scraped a light and carefully repetitive path against her flank, from hip to knee.</p><p>"I should rather talk about it now. You have been avoiding anything that transpired while you were in... what was it, the First Reflection?"</p><p>"Norvrandt. Yes."</p><p>"Norvrandt, then. If you feel the need to discuss it, then let's talk."</p><p>Aurelia stared down at her hands where they rested upon his stomach, gaze following the neat path of the incision scar she'd made just beneath his ribs. A legacy of Omega. </p><p>"...Now I just feel as though I've ruined the mood."</p><p>"You've ruined nothing," he said, even though the dull ache of unrelieved desire still nagged at him. He offered her a faint grin. "Not as though you and I've never managed to find ample time for a good swive when the mood strikes, hm? So. Talk to me."</p><p>"No, I... really, it can wait." She tried to smile but the laugh that fell from her lips was thin and weak, and he saw them quiver. "We're rather in the middle of something, and I'm not going to be the one to ruin- damn it, Nero! <em>Wait-</em>"</p><p>He'd already unseated her, lifting her from her seat on his hips to place her slender frame on the bed alongside him- he still throbbed with want but he could force himself to ignore it for the time being. This was more important, he told himself. One rough palm cupped her cheek, then lifted a sheaf of wet hair from her neck and shoulders with a deft and careful gesture.</p><p>She blinked furiously, her gaze shifting away, and he saw her eyes were wet.</p><p>"Let's... let's just finish what we were doing," Aurelia said, her voice trembling and uneven. "Really, it's fine."</p><p>"It's not fine, whatever it is. You're obviously distressed."</p><p>"Nero-"</p><p>"What is it you always tell me? You'll feel better once you've let it out."</p><p>She took a deep breath, one that told him whatever it was that troubled her, it was not trivial.</p><p>"I don't understand how you can look at me and bear the sight of me, much less go on like nothing happened," her voice cracked. "I don't understand it at all. You've done all this work to make a space for yourself and I come back, broken and halfway to failure, expecting you to simply accept the state of things as they are and not ask any questions because I'm a coward and I can't-"</p><p>"You are neither broken nor a <em>failure</em>," Nero interrupted her outpouring of words with a vehemence that surprised even himself. "And you aren't a coward either."</p><p>"I am."</p><p>"You can't possibly believe such things about yourself, not after all you've done."</p><p>"But I <em>did</em> fail! I went to get the others back and I couldn't do it! That was the entire <em>point</em> of going. And just- just look at what the Light did to me. My hair, my face- my <em>eye-</em>"</p><p>"You're missing the point. It could have killed you. You're <em>alive</em>."</p><p>"No, <em>you're</em> missing the point. I don't know how long it'll take to recede. If it ever <em>does</em>. If I'm not just stuck this way indefinitely."</p><p>Silence reigned, yawning between them like a chasm bridged only by the sound of sniffling. He propped his elbow against one of the pillows and reached for her with his other hand. His thumb brushed the corner of her good eye and came away wet. </p><p>"Aurelia," he said, taking pains to keep his voice a soft and even murmur, the suggestion of waves lapping against a rocking boat. She'd reached for the coverlet and had dragged it over her thin frame, clutching handfuls to her chest. "Look at me."</p><p>She did, reluctantly, one eye focused and the other vague and unseeing. He took one of her hands, prying the coverlet from her fingers and folding it in his own grasp. </p><p>"Do you remember what happened to me at the top of Syrcus Tower, three years ago?"</p><p>"I- yes, of course. The Exa- ...<em>Raha</em> and I had to come in after you. Of <em>course</em> I remember."</p><p>"And do you recall the state I was in when you found me?"</p><p>"Nero, that's not the same."</p><p>"Not the same," he repeated. "I thought you might say that. How is it not the same?"</p><p>The corners of Aurelia's lips twitched helplessly.</p><p>"It's- you weren't-"</p><p>"It was <em>exactly</em> the same. The only difference was in the aspect. I came very, very close to becoming a voidsent. Closer than I think any of you realized." He grazed his lips over her knuckles. "You said yourself that I could expect any lingering effects to diminish over time. Why would you think it would be any different for you?"</p><p>"I took in so much more aether than you did, Nero. My flesh isn't any different from yours or anyone else's, Blessing or not." She sighed. "I don't know if... I mean, it's very much within the realm of possibility that I will never regain my sight in that eye."</p><p>"And if you don't, what of it?"</p><p>"But... the way I <em>look</em>. You aren't-"</p><p>"Sweetling, correct me if I've assumed wrongly, but you seem far more concerned about your appearance than your loss of vision. Are you worried that I find myself revolted by it?"</p><p>Something like embarrassment crept into her eyes. Nero knew better than to laugh, as much as he wished to do so. </p><p>"Who wouldn't be," she muttered. "I still look half <em>transfigured</em>-"</p><p>He reached for the coverlet and tugged it from her remaining hand, prised her wrist away to give him access to her bared chest, and traced a fingertip along the scar that ran from the base of her sternum to the curve of her collarbone. It was a delicate touch, as though he had taken one of his precision tools to the aetheric circuit boards in his tomestone hoard.</p><p>"I have seen this scar countless times now. Every time I do, I remember that night we were able to repair matters between us."</p><p>"But it doesn't-"</p><p>"Hush."</p><p>He ran his fingers through the left side of her fringe and brushed her forelock aside to look upon the marks of the Light that lingered still. With one knuckle he followed the arch of her eyebrow, with its hairs bleached white, and studied the skin that was still pallid and immobile, stiffened with the marbled and inhuman perfection of primordial stasis. </p><p>Her left eye, its lens clouded and crystalline, made minute tracking movements side to side- it was reacting to the lamplight, not to him, but the tears that fell from it were no different than those from the right. He brushed them away just as he had done moments ago.</p><p>"I don't find you revolting," he said. "I find you beautiful."</p><p>Slowly she shook her head. "I don't understand."</p><p>"Every moment since I first saw you, I have studied everything about you. Your demeanor, your mannerisms, your intellect, your talents. If the mark of the Light is to become a permanent part of you," she stilled when his thumb brushed the curve of her third eye, "then I would simply add it to my memories and my knowledge of the most remarkable woman I have ever chanced to know, and count myself blessed as I ever have."</p><p>"That is very easy to say, but-"</p><p>"I do not feel any obligation to be with you, nor do I remain 'in spite' of anything, contrary to what you might believe about yourself. There is nothing about you that I will now or ever find pitiable or repulsive." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. <em>"Nothing."</em></p><p>Her expression crumpled as though he'd punched her in the gut. </p><p>When he reached for her again her arms wrapped about his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder. Nero sat upright and rested his hands on her back, and aside from the idle stroking of his fingertips along her spine he let her exhaust her emotions, bemused as ever by this fount of patience he'd discovered within himself. He had not possessed even a fraction of it when he was younger.</p><p>How different his life might have been, he thought. </p><p>"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You don't need-"</p><p>"<em>Aurelia Laskaris,</em> if you attempt to imply that your distress is a burden to me one more time," he poked the wet tip of her nose where one of her tears had run, "I am getting out of this bed, and I am turning on that broken centrifuge in the workshop. Whereupon I shall force you to listen to the <em>bloody awful grinding noise</em> those broken bearings keep making until you've driven to distraction or you stop berating yourself. Whichever comes first."</p><p>Normally she would have had some sort of rejoinder in her, something to counter his jape- but at this moment she only made a shaky little exhalation, waiting as the tightness in her throat began to ease.</p><p>"I really should repair that," she said. "I promised I'd do it when I returned-"</p><p>"Tomorrow. Tonight, you are staying right here. No work and no self-pity allowed."</p><p>One of her arms abandoned its place about his neck to try and wipe at her face before she braced her palm against his chest. "So," she ventured after a few moments, "what was that about 'studying everything about me'? That's not even possible. Unless you've fallen back into your bad old habits, <em>Tribunus</em>."</p><p>Nero cleared his throat.</p><p>"...Well," he said, "I might have exaggerated. For dramatic effect, you know. Only a touch, though."</p><p>"What do you mean, <em>a touch?</em>"</p><p>"What? Half the fun's in the discovery of- <em>ow.</em>" He winced, rubbing his rear end as she retracted her hand. "Give a man an opportunity for his safe word before you start breaking out the rough treatment, won't you?"</p><p>"A swat to the cheek for your cheek."</p><p>Nero shrugged.</p><p>"I made you smile, didn't I?"</p><p>He was grinning at her the way he always did, that overly wide boyish smile when he meant to charm her, his teeth a brief shimmering flash in the darkness. Aurelia leaned into him to rest her cheek against his chest, next to her palm, until she could hear the strong and steady sound of his beating heart in her ear, then let herself have a small and tremulous laugh.</p><p>"You always do," she said, wiping away the last of her drying tears. "You always do."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. #17 - Fade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emet-Selch is starting to forget. Not that it matters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She couldn't remember. </p><p>Of course she couldn't. It would be naught but folly to expect otherwise.</p><p>His hand unfurled, fingers clad in snow-white silk like the petals of a blossoming flower, what was it that Halmarut had called it--</p><p>No, he thought. Never mind all that. That wasn't important. </p><p>What she had thought a pendant lay in his palm, the tip of the horn chipped as it had been all those thousands of years ago. Elidibus' gift. They'd all commissioned him to make it for the fourteenth of their number for some momentous occasion. It was a memory of the first concept she had ever crafted, and <em>who</em> had told the Emissary about that? Three guesses, he thought sardonically, and the first two would never count.</p><p>Never-</p><p>Yes, but <em>what</em> had it been for? There had been a reason, and a good one.</p><p>Why could he no longer recall what that might be?</p><p>Gloved hands bunched into fists so tight that the pendant would have cracked were it crafted from any rock wrought by mortal hands, and Emet-Selch snarled under his breath, his fierce scowl boring into the back of their hero's soft golden head as if he could destroy with a glance alone.</p><p>Hydaelyn's servant. He despised everything she stood for. Her fractured nature, the audacity she had to bear a piece of <em>her</em> soul, that calm and stoic gaze as she asked one of her incessant questions. </p><p>By Zodiark, he should have known this entire endeavor would be naught save an interminable bore. Following this gaggle of half-men about a dying star was not anything like his idea of a good time; if he were a wiser being he would simply have stayed the course, tried and true.</p><p>Lesser creatures such as these were invariably the authors of their own demise. He did not fancy himself the actor upon the stage playing his part; if anything, he was the props-master, handing the actors in these petty and short-lived tragedies the tools of their own destruction. So it would go with this merry band; they had already set themselves upon the path that would hasten the First's demise without even realizing it. Just like all the others whose strings he had pulled to usher worlds to their appointed end.</p><p>Man's hubris would fill in the cracks and crevasses of destruction that he left untouched. It always did. </p><p><em>Then why do you deign to join their little entourage?</em> a small inner voice taunted. <em>Why concern yourself with these small and broken things if you find them of no moment? Or their vaunted hero?</em></p><p>His eyes fell upon her face once again. She was speaking with that misbegotten vessel of Lahabrea's -- the man who now fancied himself a guardian. A world of bitterness in that one, he thought. He kept even his own friends at arm's length. Why, it was hardly a surprise that-</p><p>She laughed and his breath caught.</p><p>Emet-Selch knew that laugh. He could have picked it from a crowd of countless thousands. The face was wrong, the hair was wrong, it was all <em>wrong</em>, but he knew that laugh. And the look she wore on her face: he knew that too. It was a painfully familiar expression. She'd make that face at him when he- when-</p><p>....when?</p><p>With a scoff the Ascian shunted his gaze aside. The spell was broken. </p><p>It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter that his memories were beginning to fragment around the edges. </p><p>It didn't matter.</p><p>Perhaps this piece of her could contain the Light, or - and he knew it was far more likely - it wouldn't, and the plans for the Ardor would proceed apace. What should he care if one of two of his own paltry memories had fragmented over the endless years? They paled to insignificance beneath the importance of his work.</p><p>True, he could no longer perfectly recall her face. Or the occasion which had caused Elidibus to gift her that trinket- a cracked and useless thing now, like so many countless other things that had been broken over the years. Were he not who he were - if he were one of these sundered creatures - he might even have felt alarm.</p><p>But there was no cause for such a fuss, he decided, shutting his eyes and curling into the crux of the ancient tree's boughs, in a patch of shadow that fit his current vessel.</p><p>It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.</p><p>It didn't matter at all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Weary of the affairs of men for the moment, Emet-Selch closed his eyes and slept, and a hero's laughter followed him into his dreams.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. #18 - Panglossian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"She will return. And when she does, our dance will resume."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i meant to write something with ardbert but then biggs fell out and a wild headcanon appeared whoops</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The Yard of Saints was what people now called the high and lonely promontory that guarded the pass between old Ishgard and the crystalline wastes of Mor Dhona. </p><p>It once had another name, or so Biggs' father had once said, but most folk had long since forgotten it. The few souls who braved the Coerthan wilds, grown even colder and more inhospitable in the face of the Eighth Calamity, came no closer to the Yard than the ruins of old Dragonhead, and it was in the old camp that a man in patchwork armor -- some soul from a nearby settlement volunteering for the watch -- had watched him gearing up to head into the foothills with a squint and a cynical smile.</p><p>"Sure you ain't goin' up there alone, engineer?" the man asked. Biggs shrugged.</p><p>"I'm thinkin' there ain't much in these hills nowadays to kill a man," he said. "Other than the blizzards."</p><p>"You'd be thinkin' wrong. Even if there weren't wild aevis up there-- You ain't heard about <em>him</em>, I guess."</p><p>"Maybe. Who's 'him'?"</p><p>The man spat to one side and threw a piece of kindling onto the struggling campfire. "The chief says it's naught but old folk tales, but there's rumored to be a skinchanger who stalks them ruins up on the point. A giant that protects the Yard from intruders, or so the old folks' tales say."</p><p>Biggs knew the story. The Ironworks had not a few legends of their own passed down about the company's founders. Among them was a tale in which Cid Garlond and Nero tol Scaeva had been attacked by a pack of slavering beastkin while undertaking a mission in Coerthas, and would have died if not for the interference of a mysterious samurai. The story itself was constant enough that Biggs felt some of it must be true, though he rather doubted the descriptions of the founding fathers' timely saviour: those details seemed to be embellished with each telling.</p><p>Aloud he said, "There's plenty of folk tales about the land, aren't there?"</p><p>"Not many who've faced the blade of the Guardian and lived to tell the tale." The man coughed, fished around in his belt pouch, and produced a pipe which he began to tamp with moko leaf. "S'pose it's your funeral anyroad, mate."</p><p>He had, admittedly, almost turned back halfway up the slope. The ruins on the promontory had been ruins even in the Warrior's day, so it was said, and they were even more hazardous in the aftermath of the calamity: the aevis up here would eat anything, even each other, and it was as much as a man's life was worth to get caught up here after dark, especially with the snow that almost constantly fell in Coerthas. </p><p>Well, he'd made a promise. He'd spend the night in the mausoleum if it came to that.</p><p>His feet crunched through hard-pack and grit; it was <em>cold</em> up here, much colder than Mor Dhona even in the dead of winter. Biggs shivered, tugging his worn scarf tighter about his cheeks and jaw, and leaned upon his walking-stick as he continued the ascent. The gunblade he carried on his back was surely covered in ice by now, the trigger frozen solid. He tried not to think about that as the sun began to sink beneath the outline of the peaks. </p><p>The brittle and over-bright sunlight turned orange, the shadows slanting deeper across the snow, and he knew he would not be able to finish his business and return to camp before night fell. Every small sound, no matter how insignificant, wore its warning into his limbs. The road was silent - or, he fancied, save for his footsteps, which every predator in Coerthas was like to hear as loud as they seemed in his ears. He forced himself to set his fear aside even as his mission took on an almost talismanic importance.</p><p>Press on, he told himself. It's not far. Press on. But the engineer's certainty that he was being watched- <em>stalked-</em> only grew, seemingly in proportion to his fatigue. Every minute seemed an hour, and he became quite certain that the man in the camp had been correct and he was walking to his death. </p><p>Thus he was not at all surprised when the enormous purple aevis appeared from behind the remains of an ancient stone wall with a grinding snarl that set his knees to trembling. Its jowls dripped with saliva and levinbolts gathered at its wing-tips, ready to fire. The three that he knew had been following him since he set foot in their territory had fanned out to cover his flanks, preventing any means of their prey's escape.</p><p>Mouth suddenly as dry as a cotton boll, Biggs slowly reached for the hilt of the antique gunblade he'd taken along, a gunblade that had once belonged to Nero tol Scaeva and more a visual deterrent these days than a proper weapon, waiting for one of them to break his guard and spill his innards to the snow with a single rake of its wicked-looking curved claws-</p><p>-and the keen whistle of steel cut through the air. The severed head fell to the snow with a dull thud and the rest of its body followed, limbs still twitching. </p><p>Its two companions attempted a pincer attack, claws flexing as they spewed flame- but it availed them nothing; their unseen assailant struck again and the creatures collapsed alongside their fellow. The snow before the crumbled outbuildings of the ruin was no longer blinding and pure white, but deep crimson and rusting brown. The pack leader bared its teeth in a threatening snarl, but it folded its wings and cringed in supplication as the swordsman took a step forward into the diminishing light of dusk: a great hulk of a man, taller even than Biggs himself.</p><p>"Pathetic," sighed a voice that was to his ears like gravel grinding beneath the heel of a boot. "I have no desire to toy with you, beast. Away."</p><p>The aevis fled. </p><p>Biggs could not make out the face in the dark, only a pair of eyes like chips of ice and a long mane of hair. The hand, snugly wrapped in layers of leather and cloth, rested upon the hilt of a long and curved blade whose like he had never seen before. He had the strangest feeling that he had not so much been rescued from certain death as he had simply watched one small pack of predators fall prey to a much more dangerous animal.</p><p>"And you," said the swordsman. "What do you here?"</p><p>Throat so constricted that he barely trusted himself to speak, he held his parcel skyward.</p><p>"I go to the Yard," he said hoarsely. "A gift, for the Warrior."</p><p>After a long and tense moment, the hand that lay ready to draw its weapon fell away.</p><p>"Go, then," spoke its owner. "The aevis will not give chase so long as the scent of fresh blood remains in the air."</p><p>"Thank---"</p><p>"Do not thank me. I do this for <em>her</em>," the giant said. Biggs could see nothing of the face, only the motion of hair flowing like the river under ice as the chin lowered. "Go do what you came to do and leave this place- before I decide a savage makes better sport than dragons."</p><p>He didn't need to be told twice. The gunblade remained untouched, its weight seemed to drag at his ankles as he all but scurried his way up the hill. </p><p>~*~</p><p>The Warrior's final resting place - an Ishgardian-style mausoleum within which also rested one of the Ironworks' founders - sat at the center of the Yard. The tomb was a very different place from her enshrined monument in Idyllshire; the latter was covered in detritus year-round, mostly the various hand-painted wooden icons with a likeness of her face. The Children of Light carried the pictures with them on their pilgrimages to the shrine, where they'd light candles and hold a vigil to pray to the Warrior for luck and protection. </p><p>From all G'raha Tia had said of her, it was a safe bet to assume the Warrior of Light would have been sorely grieved to know that in the tenebrous days of the Eighth Umbral Era, she was the subject of worship. It wasn't his place to gainsay them, though. There was hardly enough ambient aether to perform basic tasks still let alone summon the Warrior as a primal. And so long as it brought no harm to the land, far be it from him to deprive folk of whatever means they had to hold onto hope in this blighted world.</p><p>The mausoleum itself was devoid of such trinkets, save a fresh bouquet of Dravanian spotted orchid. There were always fresh flowers atop her tomb whenever anyone came by to care for it. Neither he nor anyone else in the Ironworks knew who kept bringing them, and they had long ago resigned themselves to the fact that there were some mysteries they might never solve.</p><p>Biggs collapsed against cold stone and half-melted ice with a deep sigh, placed a handful of kindling on the floor, and struck a flint until the sparks took. Wind was already whistling around the edges of the structure and he was very sure there would be more snow overnight. Best to stay here until morning light and make his way down the mountain while the dragons slept. </p><p>He didn't realize he had dozed until he heard the grinding of the hinges on the heavy door. Startled to full wakefulness, the president of the Garlond Ironworks reached for the gunblade and turned to face the interloper, thinking one of the dragons had followed him after all.</p><p>The Guardian of the Yard stood in the doorway, staring at him with bleak and empty eyes. His hand fell away from the hilt, trembling slightly.</p><p>"I only mean to stay until dawn," Biggs said, his voice steady. "Give me until then. You can share my fire if you like." </p><p>The man said nothing, but crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Now that Biggs could see more clearly, no longer half-panicked and powered by adrenaline, he could see a face that was far younger than he would have expected. Even more surprisingly, the man appeared to be of a Spoken race that had not existed in this part of the star for so long most thought them to have vanished entirely: the pearlescent curve of a third eye gleamed from beneath the curtain of wind-tossed blonde.</p><p>"You said the Warrior was your friend?"</p><p>Biggs regretted his words almost instantly, spoken more to make conversation than out of any real curiosity. He was quite sure somehow that the man might have taken a notion to kill him, from the feral darkness that shifted behind those eyes. </p><p>But a strange smile curved his lips. </p><p>"My enemy," he said. "But also my friend."</p><p>"You knew the Warrior of Light personally? But that would imply you were alive when- I mean, surely that's-"</p><p>The smile faded and Biggs was more certain than ever he stood a chance of dying at this man's hands. "A lesser creature like yourself knows <em>nothing</em> of what is possible, and what is not, for one such as myself. Or her. Do not presume to speak of it."</p><p>His heart hammered in his ears as silence fell, save the crackling of the fire. He fought the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his snow-damp breeches, awaiting that whistling sound which he knew would presage his final moments.</p><p>It never came. A soft sigh echoed through the corners of the tomb: the sound of a sated predator deciding the hart that shared its lair was no longer tantalizing enough to devour. </p><p>"I have sought her return longer than you have lived."</p><p><em>He is mad,</em> Biggs thought. <em>He must be mad. To hold onto hope in the face of all that has happened, for two centuries, that the Warrior herself might still live. Even Master Scaeva didn't think-</em></p><p>"...You believe that she lives? That she will come back to Eorzea?"</p><p>"Mortal death means very little to those with the means to transcend the physical." A feverish, almost manic light danced in the man's eyes, or perhaps it was merely the flickering of the firelight reflected upon marble. "What is the body but a mere vessel?"</p><p>Uncertain what to say, the engineer could only nod. The motion went unnoticed.</p><p>"Yes, my friend will return to me when the time is right," the swordsman said. That unsettling smile returned, soft and joyful and utterly insane, and it was then Biggs saw that this fell and terrible creature loved the Warrior of Light as much as the founding fathers had loved her- in his own twisted and destructive fashion. "And when she does, I will be waiting to receive her with open arms. Thus our dance will resume: as timeless and eternal as our very souls."</p><p>At this declarative - and ominous - statement, silence reigned over the mausoleum and its inhabitants, both living and dead, once more. Biggs was certain he would not be able to find the wherewithal to sleep that night, but sleep he did: lulled into dreams by the hypnotic flicker of the light and his own fatigue from the climb. </p><p>And when he awakened at dawn to place his gifts upon each grave -- silk flowers, fashioned into the likeness of the Althyk lavender the Warrior was said to have loved -- he saw that the fire had burned to embers, and he was alone.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. #19 - Where the Heart Is</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"My compliments to the chef."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>set during crystal tower. the notion of raha and nero having struck up a cautious friendship is something i now need like burning</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"What's he doing?"</p><p>G'raha blinked. "What's who doing?"</p><p>She pointed at the tall, wiry Garlean man currently presiding over what passed for Saint Coinach's cookfire. </p><p>"I do believe that's called 'cooking,' Aurelia."</p><p>Aurelia resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "I can see that for myself. Whose idea was it to stick him in front of a cookstove?"</p><p>"Rammbroes, I assume." At the sight of her narrowed eyes, the Sharlayan laughed. "You could just ask him yourself. He's coming this way."</p><p>And so he was, with a bowl in each hand. It was strange enough to see Nero tol Scaeva without his heavy traveling coat, even stranger to see the man with his sleeves rolled up and a linen apron over his shirt and trousers. She was used to thinking of him as a threat, the conniving schemer he'd made of himself in the XIVth Legion, but right now he looked positively domestic, with his normally neat blond hair mussed and what looked like a dab of flour on one cheek.</p><p>"Tribunus," she said, coolly. </p><p>"Good evening, Nero," the Miqo'te at her side echoed, with a bright smile and far more warmth in his own voice- rather than harbor suspicions of Scaeva's motives he actually seemed to <em>like</em> the man, much to her surprise and Cid's. "Did they put you on mess hall duty tonight?"</p><p>"Actually, I volunteered myself."</p><p>"Oh? That's a surprise," G'raha said. "No offence intended, but I wouldn't have thought you the culinarian sort."</p><p>Nero positively preened at the compliment. "Yes, well. Culinary skill itself is naught but a science, one not unlike engineering. My true calling is of course the latter, but I never gave up the former. It has its uses. One must needs nourish the mind to use it."</p><p>"I quite agree! I think you have the right of it. Although I am also surprised that Ryssrael would have let anyone else near the food."</p><p>"I admit, it did take some fast talking on my part to get her to agree to a change to the menu for the night," the Garlean said dryly.</p><p>"Is this one of your own recipes?"</p><p>"So it is. Try it for yourself," Nero urged, passing a small bowl in the scholar's direction, then held one out to Aurelia. He rolled his eyes at her blank stare with a loud and exasperated sigh. "Come now, don't tell me your ladyship's <em>adventurous streak</em> begins and ends at the dining table."</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"Just a little taste of home. Far better than what's been passing for camp rations here, I should wager." She cautiously sniffed at it, squinting at its contents. He scoffed. "...If I wanted you to have some comeuppance, eikon-slayer, it would surely be more elegant than putting poison in your food. Go on."</p><p>Even G'raha looked faintly reproachful, and Aurelia supposed that if her new friend who seemed to have good instincts about people trusted him, she could at least humor him by following suit. Wordlessly she took the bowl and helped herself to a mouthful. She recognized a rough-cut pasta with a creamy, earthy taste that was surprisingly delicate; she thought she tasted just a hint of wine, along with--</p><p>"This is <em>pasta alla</em> <em>boscaiola</em>, isn't it?" She took another, much larger mouthful and added: "This is quite good. My compliments to the chef."</p><p>"I... ah. So it is." The tribunus cleared his throat; to Aurelia's surprise, the man looked something approaching self-conscious. "One of the very first dishes I ever learned to make, as it happens. I'm quite surprised to hear you've had it." </p><p>She shook her head. </p><p>"I've heard of it," she clarified, "but I've never eaten it before." </p><p>"Boscaiola would be considered rather too <em>rustic</em> for a noblewoman's palate, I imagine," the engineer drawled, but he was offering a cautious smile back. "You'd not have seen it at table at your home in the capitol. It's peasant food. Something we eat in autumn, near the end of harvest season before the first snow."</p><p>The three sat in silence for a time and in short order both Aurelia and G'raha had cleaned their bowls. Nero seemed content enough to remain, scribbling something down in a small pocket journal and putting it away when he saw she was watching him.</p><p>"So," she said, deciding to pick up the stray thread of conversation, "did you learn to cook while you were in the army?"</p><p>"Oh, no. I learned to cook long before I came to the capitol." He smiled into the fire, and Aurelia was taken aback by the sight of it. She'd seen him smile countless times before, but those were sardonic and mocking things, meant to generate a reaction rather than to signify any strong emotion. This one softened his features and made him appear, for just a moment, younger than Aurelia herself. "My grandmother helped to raise me and my sisters. I used to assist her in the kitchen quite often, so she passed along many of her recipes to me."</p><p>It was difficult to imagine Nero tol Scaeva as an innocent, wide-eyed boy standing in a kitchen cutting vegetables, but then she supposed most people would have had the same difficulty picturing her as a child.</p><p>"This recipe seems very dear to you."</p><p>"One of my earliest memories is going mushroom-picking with her." He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that seemed rather deliberate. "This is her version of a common dish. I imagine it varies wildly."</p><p>"At any rate, I find people who can cook very impressive," she said. "I've never been able to manage to make more than one or two things myself."</p><p>Nero's expression, when he pressed a hand to his chest, was one of exaggerated shock. "Goodness, have I finally chanced upon something the vaunted champion of Eorzea <em>can't</em> do? If I wore pearls, I daresay I'd be clutching them."</p><p>Completely unbidden, Aurelia found herself cackling.</p><p>"Don't be an arse. I just wanted to thank you," she held out the empty bowl, "for sharing your food with us."</p><p>"Indeed," G'raha said. His two-toned eyes had settled on Nero's face, his smile unwavering. "My grandfather once told me that in many of the provinces in Ilsabard, when you share a family meal with strangers it's the highest form of hospitality. Most folk there have little to eat. So when they offer a stranger to partake of their meal, that person becomes part of the family as long as they're at the table."</p><p>Curiously, Nero wouldn't look at either of them. He stared at the bowls stacked in his hands as if they were subjects of fascinating study. After a moment, he stood quite abruptly, brushing gravel from his coat. </p><p>"Mistress Ryssrael will want help scouring the pot," he said. "A good evening to you both."</p><p>And with three brisk strides the two were alone once again. G'raha's eyes lingered upon that retreating back, the tilt to his lips rueful- but when he looked at her again his usual grin was firmly back in place. Aurelia frowned. </p><p>"What was that all about?" </p><p>"Not the faintest idea," the Miqo'te said cheerfully, though the look in his eyes marked him a liar. "Let's take another look at that tomestone you found, shall we?"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. #20 - Tedium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I have entered a state that has long surpassed boredom."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i recognize i probably should have just saved this one but. spoilers for post-4.0, end of sigmascape in case you haven't done old raids yet</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Absolutely not. I can't believe you'd even entertain the notion."</p><p>"Aurelia, for the gods' sake-"</p><p>"Swearing by gods you don't believe in. Hm."</p><p>"You do it all the time!"</p><p>"I am also not attempting to wheedle my way out of mandatory bed rest," she pointed out. "Operative word being <em> mandatory</em>."</p><p>The former tribunus tossed his hands in the air and angrily threw himself against the pile of pillows behind him- then let out a pained string of sulfurous oaths when his still-healing body cramped in protest. The Warrior of Light, glaring obstinately at him from his bedside, ignored the swearing and crossed her arms. </p><p>"If I perish from anything," Nero growled, "it will be what the Ishgardians term soul-devouring <em> ennui</em>." </p><p>"I'm not enforcing bed rest just to torment you, contrary to what you might believe."</p><p>"And when you get called into the rift again, do you think <em> Garlond </em>will be able to help you? You <em>know </em>his position on using magitek for violent ends as well as I do, and it does not matter if it's you or me or anyone else, he'll refuse. Time and again. Surely you know that." </p><p>"Cid's a pacifist, not a fool."</p><p>"Debatable."</p><p>"Nero," she said gently. He let out a nasal sigh but didn't turn his head to look at her. "Please don’t be petulant. I <em> know </em> you're bored-"</p><p>"I have entered a state that has <em> long </em> surpassed boredom."</p><p>He'd unfolded his hands to pick angrily at the lint on his infirmary coverlet. He wouldn't look at her. Aurelia sighed and pulled up the spare seat, which was really just a repurposed barber's chair, and reached for his hands, squeezing one of them. It stilled, then after a beat or two, squeezed back.</p><p>"All right, scratch that. You are <em>frightfully </em>bored," she said. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>"And I'm sorry for it, truly. But I would give the same medical advice to Cid were your positions reversed and you know it. You came very close to death, and I would rather you savor your recovery."</p><p>His chin tilted upwards just enough to let him glance into her eyes, dark with concern. He looked back to their laced fingers and ran his calloused thumb over the back of her hand, the flesh there soft and smooth. Aurelia Laskaris had a highborn lady's hands, delicate-looking and graceful, and Nero knew better than anyone what a deception that was. </p><p>"You know full well I can't just lie here for weeks on end. I'm about to climb the godsdamned walls as it is.”</p><p>“Nero, you can’t-” </p><p>“Surely there must be <em> something </em>I can do to occupy myself that shan't tax me overmuch." She sighed again. She was starting to weaken, he saw. "...Very well. Please?"</p><p>Aurelia's lips tilted in a smile that was decidedly rueful.</p><p>"You must have been the terror of the Academy infirmary as a boy," she said.</p><p>"You have no idea."</p><p>"All right. I'll speak with Jessie and see if she can come up with anything, but in the meantime, you need to stay in bed. I'll make sure someone can keep you company when I can't be here. Even if it’s Alpha."</p><p>"You're off again?"</p><p>"Not immediately, but we could receive word from Ala Mhigo or Doma any day now," she said wearily. "Both have requested our assistance in proposing overtures to the Empire as a neutral party, and there are various other matters Tataru's asked to discuss."</p><p>It was his turn to offer a warning frown. "Delegate your tasks, at least? I know the others are capable. You can't do everything alone and I know you, you'll kill yourself trying." </p><p>"...I confess I <em> am </em> rather tired these days."</p><p>Nero offered her a comically lascivious wink and patted the mattress. "There's free space on the bed if you'd like to lie down and relax."</p><p>"Where I am certain," she scoffed, "you will be a perfect gentleman-"</p><p>"Aren't I always?"</p><p>"-and before you ask, the answer is <em>no</em>. As enticing as the sight of you expiring betwixt my thighs mid-climax might be," at her words the engineer erupted in a bout of pained laughter which she ignored, "I should rather have you alive and <em> more or less </em> in one piece."</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"<em>No</em>. Not until you're off bed rest and your stitches are healed."</p><p>He was pouting again.</p><p>"You," he said, "are no fun at all."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. #21 - Foibles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"How many times have you stolen that from him?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>continuation of #20. spoilers for post-sigmascape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first sight she beheld upon her return to Rhalgr’s Reach was a frazzled Jessie. The Midlander had the look of someone who had long since tired of her mortal coil and sought release in either oblivion or an absurdly strong brew of Dalmascan coffee, whichever came first. </p><p>"Before you ask," said the deputy president of the Garlond Ironworks, with the weariness of a much older woman, "no, I <em> don't </em> know what possessed me to think this was a good idea, and yes, I <em> am </em> sorry in advance."</p><p>Aurelia braced herself.</p><p>“I made the mistake of putting Nero’s name before Rowena.”</p><p>“Oh <em>hells</em>, Jessie, not the House of Splendors. She'll milk him for every gil she can get.”</p><p>“He was the one who asked me to tell her. He had some ideas, he said. About improvements to what he said were-” Jessie ran a hand down one cheek. “Well, here, go see for yourself.”</p><p>Aurelia wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she stepped through the partition but it wasn’t the disaster zone of discarded paper and snapped drafting pencils. A small shaft of light spilled from a natural fissure in the rock and onto the pillow where Nero lay sleeping, a drafting pencil and some sort of tool still clutched in his hands.</p><p>Cid’s omnitool, which he'd stolen off the man's toolbelt - somehow - yet again. She sighed, reached over, and plucked it from his fingers.</p><p>“I don’t know what you were working on,” she said, “but he’s going to be missing that.”</p><p>His eyes cracked open.</p><p>“Oi,” he croaked, “give that back.”</p><p>She held it dangling just out of reach. “How many times have you stolen that from him? It's a very bad habit of yours, appropriating tools that don't belong to you.”</p><p>“Only Garlond's tools. He wasn’t using it.”</p><p>"....That doesn't make it better, you know." Before Aurelia could stop him he’d snatched it back and placed it on the bed, then drew himself to a sitting position and reached for the piece of flat wood he'd appropriated as a makeshift table. She shook her head. “And I <em> told </em>you not to get involved with Rowena-”</p><p>“You mean again.”</p><p>“Yes, again. Implying you didn't learn from the <em> last </em> time you indebted yourself to her.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “...Please tell me she’s paying you for this, at least. You're not recovered enough to be working full time.”</p><p>"If one is awake and able to put one's hands to use, one is well enough to work."</p><p>"Ah yes. The fabled Garlean work ethic."</p><p>"Quite. And I've received an advance. The rest will be paid once the prototype is completed.” Nero waved a dismissive hand and reached for the mug sitting on his side table. He took a sip and grimaced. “Seven hells. I realize Eorzea is a bloody backwater but what does it take for a man to get a half-decent cup of coffee?”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed.</p><p>"I will get you fresh coffee," she said, "but only if you promise me not to spend the entire day working. And give me back the omnitool."</p><p>"Coffee first," he spread out a fresh sheet. "Then we'll talk."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. #22 - Argy-bargy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"He started it," Cid began.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've been scrambling to catch up so i'm very thankful this one had the courtesy of writing itself</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Stop <em>calling </em>me that. You keep saying 'patronage' as though-"</p><p>Cid stared at him, expression blank and feckless.</p><p>"What? Stop calling you what, Scaeva?"</p><p>"A scholarship student."</p><p>"Why is it so important to you not to be called what you are? It's just facts. You entered the Academy on a partially paid scholarship from the government, and you had a patron who paid for you to take the exam. Father told me how it works."</p><p>Nero bared his teeth. </p><p>"Oh yes, Daddy dearest. I might have expected as much."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean? What's Father got to do with-"</p><p>"I'm not here on any bloody <em> charity</em>." Nearly a fulm over him in height, it left Nero able to glare haughtily down his nose at his rival. He picked a bit of lint off one shoulder. "All any of that means is I actually <em>earned </em>my way into the Academy. Unlike <em>some</em> people I could name."</p><p>Cid's eyes narrowed in return as his temper flared, undaunted by the other boy's sneer. "What are you implying?"</p><p>"I'm not <em>implying</em> anything, Garlond, I'm <em>saying</em> it."</p><p>"I earned my way in, same as you." His fists clenched. "And I deserve my place here. Same as you."</p><p>Scoffing openly, Nero folded his arms. The motion stretched the worn cloth of his robe against sharp and bony elbows, stretching the thread around the patches thin; the garment was too small and stretched halfway up his forearms. He wouldn't be the only Academy student who had ended up receiving financial assistance, of course, but Cid's mention had stung the other boy's pride. </p><p>"It's an open secret that the wealthy can simply buy their degrees at any school they like," he snapped, two points of splotchy red appearing on his pale cheeks. "So before you go about telling people I was let in for <em>pity's</em> sake, perhaps we might review which one of us is the provost's son, you or myself? Who would have been guaranteed a foot in the door, exams or <em> no </em> exams-"</p><p>Without thought, so furious his vision flashed red for just a fraction of a second, Cid belted the taller boy in the mouth as hard as he could. </p><p>The blow was wild and clumsy, punch thrown as it was by a quiet lad who wasn't accustomed to hitting live targets, but it met its mark and the element of surprise lent his attack a certain brutal efficacy. Nero staggered backward, pale blue eyes wide and startled, a hand clutched to his mouth. Before he could muster a defense Cid hit him again, this time knocking him off his feet to fall hard on his arse in a patch of half-thawed icemelt. </p><p>This was so viscerally satisfying that Cid was prepared to do it a third time only for his opponent to gain a second wind. Growling like an angry bear cub, Nero lunged forward with all the wiry strength that a spindly boy of twelve summers could muster and tackled his opponent into a nearby snowdrift. The shouts echoing from the gathering students went unheeded by both boys, now cursing and punching and kicking in earnest. </p><p>He'd managed to complement Nero's busted lip with a bloody nose, and Nero himself had yanked out a handful of Cid's silver hair and blacked one of his eyes, by the time an instructor - summoned by one of the older students - arrived on the scene to pull the boys apart and bid them cease their scrapping. </p><p>"I cannot believe my eyes," he hissed. "The very first day of the new term and the pair of you are engaging in <em>fisticuffs</em>? We do <em>not </em>do this sort of thing here. Nor, young master Garlond, is this conduct befitting one of <em> your </em> background."</p><p>"But he <em>started </em> it," Cid began.</p><p>Nero gave an indignant sputter. "No, I didn't! <em>You</em> started it!"</p><p>"What- I did not!"</p><p>"Did too!"</p><p>"Did <em>not!</em>"</p><p>"Did <em>too! </em>" </p><p>
  <em> "Did not!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Did too, you lying-" </em>
</p><p><em> "Enough!" </em> The skinny boy's tirade cut off mid-sentence with a loud yelp of surprise. Cid followed suit in short order, as the man scruffed the two prodigies by their collars and hoisted them to their feet. "By all the seven hells," he growled, "to Master Garlond's offices with the <em>both </em>of you. <em> Now</em>."</p><p>He was dragging them towards the massive steel doors. Nero rebelled, of course - protesting at his treatment, loudly, as he tended to do most things - but Cid quickly fell silent, an icy core of dread settling in his stomach. </p><p>Father was going to be <em>livid</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. #23 - Shuffle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'll probably uh... finish this out later :3c</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Whose turn is it to deal?”</p><p>“Mine,” Aurelia said, setting down the wine glass. She raised her brows and pointed a finger at Nero. “And I’d wipe that grin off my face were I you.”</p><p>“Should I?” His grin didn’t waver even an ilm. “At least I’ve still my stockings on.”</p><p>“And I’m doing better than both of you,” Cid chimed in. "Must say I'm rather surprised at you, Nero."</p><p>"Many things surprise you, <em> Cidolfus</em>."</p><p>For once, Cid didn’t rise to the obvious bait. “You’re usually better than I am at games of chance. One would almost think you’re <em> trying </em>to lose.”</p><p>“Well, <em> someone </em>has to watch the eikon-slayer, you know. I'm keeping her honest.” He flopped back against the pillows to reach for his own glass, sitting near untouched on the side table. “Given all of her other sundry talents, I’d not be surprised to find out she’s actually a damned <em> card-sharp </em> on top of aught else-”</p><p><em> “Nero Scaeva,” </em> Aurelia pressed her hand to the scar between her bared breasts, “are you calling me a <em> cheat? </em>”</p><p>“Obviously not, sweetling. I’m calling you an <em>awful </em>cheat. There’s a difference.”</p><p>“Just because you decided to fold rather than call my bluff-”</p><p>“Hush,” Cid chided. “Both of you. Unless you’d like to wake the rest of the team.”</p><p>“What, you <em> don’t </em> plan on dealing Biggs in?” Nero reached for the bottle to refresh his glass. “Or Wedge? Now <em>there’s </em>a pity, truly. I could have tricked him into wagering an upgrade to that gods-awful teakettle his girlfriend insists is a modern magiteknological marvel.”</p><p>"What are you on about, Nero? There’s nothing wrong with the Boilmaster.”</p><p>“Certainly not. Not a thing wrong with it. Other than a laughable inability to make anything approaching drinkable coffee, which is the entire blasted <em> point </em>of an automatic kettle.”</p><p>“Not Wedge’s fault you’re as picky as you are insufferable.”</p><p>“All right, children, all right. Let’s get on with it. Here, Scaeva, you can watch me cut the deck.” Aurelia split the deck in half, tilted her thumbs inward to form a bridge, then let the cards fall interleaved. The sharp sound of card stock falling in place filled the silence. She did it once, twice, then cut the deck while they watched. “There. Satisfied?”</p><p>“Not until I win.” </p><p>“You’ll be waiting a long time.”</p><p>Cid made a vague gesture with his glass before downing its dregs. “And the sooner we start, the sooner the outcome. Deal us in, lass.”</p><p>The trio sat in a few moments of silence watching the casual, practiced way she dealt, the cards flying from her fingers with deft aplomb to land in three piles of five. </p><p>“You look an old hand at that,” Nero said. Aurelia paused to study her hand, her expression the very picture of neutrality as she shuffled two of the cards in her hand into a different position.</p><p>“I played a great deal of whist, as it happens.”</p><p>He raised an index finger. </p><p>“Before we begin with another round of betting: I have a proposal,” he began. “What say we make this interesting?”</p><p>“We’re sitting about playing cards in naught but our underthings and one of the others could walk in while you sit two bad hands from losing your smalls, and that isn’t <em>interesting</em> enough for you?”</p><p>“Boldly stated for a woman who is one set of cute little lacy knickers away from utter defeat." Catching Cid's impatient huff, he continued. "Anyroad- since it’s late we'll make this the last hand of the night. Whoever folds or otherwise loses is subject to the whims of the rest of the table.”</p><p>“In other words, the loser must do anything they are bid?”</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>“So if you lose, then you have to come travelling with me for a week as my humble questing assistant, to do any chore I bid you no matter <em>how</em> demeaning-”</p><p>“Well, yes. In theory. But I must admit I had rather a <em>different</em> set of hypothetical circumstances in mind.”</p><p>“Did you? And that would be... what, precisely?” She expected another sardonic rejoinder, perhaps a fresh barrage of innuendo from the usual suspect. She didn’t get one. The two men exchanged the most devious pair of grins she’d seen on either of them yet, prompting her own suspicious squint. “...I think I mislike that look. What are the pair of you planning?”</p><p>“That’s for us to know-”</p><p>“-and you to find out.”</p><p>Aurelia’s brows raised.</p><p>“Very well. Consider your bluff called, gentlemen. I accept your terms- but remember that you have to beat the house." She shot them a mysterious smile of her own, then pinched two cards from her hand and held them aloft between her knuckles with all the flourish of a dealer at one of the Gold Saucer tables. "Now. Call, raise, or fold?”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. #24 - Beam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Before pointing out the mote in thy neighbor's eye, attend the beam in thine own."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aftermath of the "in crimson it began" MSQ duty in 4.0.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m fine,” Aurelia said, shortly.</p><p>Krile was staring at her with worried eyes.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re not fine at all.”</p><p>“Krile-</p><p>“You’ve not fully recovered,” she went on. “Not even close. You should be in the transport with the rest of the injured, not attempting to help haul them back!”</p><p>“Someone has to follow behind and watch for imperial patrols. With Shtola out of commission, we’ve little choice.”</p><p>Krile glanced at the men and women being loaded on their litters into the wagons, then let her concerned gaze linger upon the Warrior of Light. She still looked remarkably unwell, but while Krile didn’t know Aurelia as well as some of the others she had been around the woman long enough to realize that any attempts to force her to rest would end in failure. </p><p>“All right,” she said finally, “but the minute you start hurting I’m putting you on a transport.”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary. It’s not that terribly far to the Wall from here. I can easily walk.”</p><p>Despite her assurances, Aurelia was quickly given cause to regret them. The heat was punishing and while her arm was easy enough to deal with (holding a cane in her non-dominant hand took some mental adjustment but otherwise was of little note), the pains from her still-healing chest wound rose quickly from a dull ache to a burning throb.</p><p>By the time they reached the far side of the Velodyna her coughing was almost constant. The moment the convoy stopped to rest and water the draught chocobos pulling the wagons, Aurelia all but collapsed onto the riverbank, curled into a ball, audibly gasping. Pain radiated down her arms from her chest as the muscles constricted, and her head spun from the heat and lingering weakness. </p><p>As she wheezed and spat blood she heard the sound of footsteps crunching against the packed gravel and mud.</p><p>“I knew this was a bad idea,” Krile said flatly, her jaw set with determination. “Up with you. Onto the transport.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“No buts.”</p><p>“There’s not space enough to carry me,” Aurelia coughed, “and I’m not in such bad shape I can't walk. I'm not- not going to throw anyone else off-”</p><p>“Hells take you, you’re as stubborn as Minfilia ever was."</p><p>"So I've been told. Frequently."</p><p>"Someone needs to. You'll drop stone dead rather than admit you need help." Krile motioned over a conjurer. “You there!"</p><p>"Ma'am?"</p><p>"Have one of the carriages make room for Mistress Laskaris. She’s unwell.”</p><p>“Damn it, I said I'm-”</p><p>“I <em>heard</em> what you said, Aurelia, but since it’s naught save foolishness I’ve elected to ignore it,” the Sharlayan retorted briskly. “Do you need water?”</p><p>Shamed by her own weakness, she could only offer a brief nod and accepted the offered waterskin. Its contents were lukewarm and full of grit but any cooler and the constricting effects on her throat would irritate it and make the coughing - and the pain - worse. She sat slumped over her knees on a rock overlooking the water, head hanging limp and sweaty hair listing in the wind in clumped strings like a wilting flower.</p><p>At a glance she saw the Lalafell speaking in animated tones with two burly men in Resistance uniforms. She splashed some of the water against her cheeks and sealed the waterskin, coughing into her sleeve- and let out a pained gasp when one of them, a Roegadyn, scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing.</p><p>“Really, this isn’t necessary,” she rasped. “I can make it a few fulms to get in a bleeding wagon.”</p><p>The obstinate expression on the smaller woman’s face was all the answer she needed. She sighed and held out the waterskin, which was plucked from her fingers and passed back to its owner.</p><p>“That’s more like it.” Those keen eyes shifted their gaze to the other man, this one a Highlander with his dark hair bound in long braids. “I presume you were able to make room for the Warrior of Light?”</p><p>“Aye. Not much, mind, an’ we had to pull a couple o’ beams from the auld benches, like- but they’ll be braced against the frame. Should be more’n enough to hold fast under her weight-- seven <em> hells</em>, miss, she’s bleedin’!”</p><p>Dully Aurelia lifted her hand from her shirt. Two small spots of crimson were spreading across the linen.</p><p>An irritated sigh drifted from her fellow Scion's lips. “I <em> told </em>you not to be so stubborn-”</p><p>“Naught of importance. Just a loose stitch,” she mumbled. “The barbers must have missed it. I’ll see to it on the wagon.”</p><p>“No,” the conjurer said firmly, “I will see to it. <em>You</em> will lie down and do nothing else for the duration until we cross the Wall and reach Oriens, and from there you are to go home and take to your bed <em> and rest </em>for the next sennight-"</p><p>"A <em>sennight?"</em></p><p>"-or until Lyse or I send for you. That means <em>no physical exertion</em>, Relia. No chores. No quests. No <em>primals</em>.”</p><p>The Garlean let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a yowl.</p><p>“This is so godsdamned embarrassing-"</p><p>“You’ll get over it.” Krile waved at the two Ala Mhigans. “To the transport. I’ll ride with you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. #25 - Wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I wish I could be someone else!"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aurelia bas laskaris, age 16</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes it seemed as though the entire span of L'haiya dus Eyahri’s life had been defined by the Empire. It had influenced her path even before she was born. Her mother had been in the city of Rabanastre when it fell to imperial troops, and the Garlean soldier who had sired her--- well, best not to think much on <em> him</em>. Mother had wed a cobbler from the edge of the capitol's market district when L'haiya was four summers old. He had raised her, and to L’haiya’s mind he was her true father. </p><p>In the old days she might have attended a primary school before taking on her family's trade, but under imperial occupation such luxuries were not afforded to her or her compeers. L'haiya and her half-sister L'jhutei were sent away to a school in the capitol for "the finest education the Empire can offer" as it was phrased by the viceroy ("propaganda," her father had called it, muttering it so quietly that he must have thought her unable to hear), one which had turned out to be a military school. Both sisters had had a commission into the legions after graduation.</p><p>L’haiya had almost taken it, too. But then? Well, then she had met Vittora cen Remianus, and Vittora had met her husband, and…</p><p>Perhaps it was for the best. Her service to the Laskaris family had earned her a fast path to imperial citizenship, after all; Mama would have said one was as good as the other, were she here, and the equally practical L'haiya was not one to look too much askance at such a boon. Even if it had left her in the rather troublesome position of raising her friend's child.</p><p>She stared at that slumped posture, the bowed golden head. From the porch, she could see her charge's shoulders trembling but could not tell if she was shivering from the night air or if she was still crying. </p><p>L’haiya felt a sort of stern and helpless pity for her. Although Julian rem Laskaris’ only child had learned something of the importance of controlling herself and learning which battles to pick (particularly in a place like the Empire, where speaking one’s mind in the wrong ears could have very severe consequences indeed), children would be children. The girl was very young and very sheltered, and she had been friends with the boy since they were small. L’haiya didn’t suppose she would have taken well to the news either were their positions reversed.</p><p>Quietly she rapped on the door and stepped over the threshold into the garden. The stars overhead were a diamond spray and the air still carried the day's warmth.</p><p>“Aurelia.”</p><p>“Go away,” the Garlean girl said in a choked voice. “I don’t want to talk.”</p><p>L’haiya made her way down the steps and into the grass, her skirts swishing about her legs, and perched herself upon the edge of the Doman fountain next to her charge. Aurelia’s body went rigid, but she said nothing and remained in place. “Your father-”</p><p>“If you’ve come to tell me I was a fool, you needn’t do so. I know I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know.” The girl sniffled and wiped at her eyes, then returned her hands to her lap. “But I just- I don’t understand how Father could <em>do</em> this to me. I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye, or wish him well! If I could have had at least a few more days with him then-”</p><p>“I think that would have been quite unwise.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Your father had nothing to do with L’sazha’s early departure, Aurelia. He left under <em>my</em> advisement.” The Miqo’te’s voice was steady. Calm. “And 'tis well that he did. You’ve caused trouble enough for the boy as it is.”</p><p>“<em>Sazha </em>is an adult by imperial law. As am I,” Aurelia said stiffly. “We’ve hardly any need for my father’s approval to do as we wish.”</p><p>“What you did,” she snapped back, her words clipped and cold, “posed a serious risk not just to you, but to L’sazha. The tribunus would have had him swinging from the nearest gibbet did he know the extent of your dalliance.”</p><p>"But he <em>didn't</em> know. We were careful and nothing happened until you decided to meddle in our affairs. Father barely cares enough to ask me about my studies, never mind aught else."</p><p>L’haiya wanted to shake her. She took a deep, measured breath.</p><p>“I was young once myself. And I daresay I was just as selfish and thoughtless,” she said. “I can hardly fault you for your age. But I feel the need to spare you your blushes by explaining the implications of what you did, as you don’t appear to quite understand the magnitude of it.”</p><p>“If we were adventurers, no one would have <em>cared</em> who I am, or what we-”</p><p>"The fact is that you are not an adventurer,” she snapped. “And this is not Eorzea. For better or worse we live in the Garlean Empire and under imperial jurisdiction. L'sazha is my legal ward and <em>you </em>are a lady of a certain social status. Better that you be angry with me for a time. It would have been not only dangerous to let the two of you continue on as you were, but it would also have been wildly irresponsible on my part.”</p><p>Aurelia looked stricken, her face pale. Relentlessly, L’haiya continued on.</p><p>“They <em>hang</em> our kind for far lesser offenses, Aurelia. If you care a whit about that boy, even a fraction of what you claim, you’ll go apologize to your father and put a decisive end to this romance of yours.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“But <em>what?</em>”</p><p>Aurelia’s chin quivered. </p><p>“I love him. I’ve loved him for so long.”</p><p>Seven hells, she might have known it was as simple - and as dangerous - as that. She’d assumed the girl’s interest in her Miqo'te companion to be little more than a childish infatuation, but it seemed their feelings had blossomed beneath her nose into something deeper than she had suspected. She had deluded herself it would pass, and in the meantime, they'd fallen in love with each other. Or as close as a pair of children could get to romantic love.</p><p>“I know you <em>think</em> you’re in love with him. But you’ll move on. And so will he. That's the way of things, good and bad.”</p><p>“No, I won’t,” she choked. “You don’t understand at all. He loves me, and once I’m done with school and my enlistment-”</p><p>“Let Sazha move on with his life,” L’haiya said, in a quieter, gentler tone. Better not to let the girl finish that statement. Better not to let her even entertain the notion it might be possible. “Let him find himself. He deserves better than my largesse and your shadow.”</p><p>Aurelia's stare was full of incredulous fury- and then her angry expression crumpled into one of despair, and on its heels welled a single sob of broken-hearted anguish. This time L’haiya put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her in for an embrace, and met no resistance. One of the girl's hands dropped into her lap and the other grasped at a handful of L’haiya’s linen shirtwaist as she buried her head under her governess’ chin.</p><p>“It’s all right, sunshine,” L'haiya murmured. “All will be well in the end. You'll see.”</p><p>“I’ll never love anyone again.”</p><p>“Yes, you will.”</p><p>“As long as I live,” she vowed, “never.”</p><p>She kissed the bright golden crown of hair and nestled her cheek against its softness, this child who she loved as her own, and let her spend her grief without comment. It was what it was. Years abroad on tour with the army would do one of two things to their relationship - either it would strengthen their resolve to be together (in which case, L’haiya thought, they would have little choice but to defect) or it would cool their passions. L’haiya expected the latter; sixteen was very young and carried with it little foresight or understanding of the way love worked. </p><p>But she knew Aurelia would hear none of that. The girl might have the look of her mother but she was every bit as obstinate as Julian rem Laskaris had ever been.</p><p>“Elle?” tshe said, in a small and choked voice.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Can I tell you something? A secret?”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>The hand that had gathered in her shirtwaist clenched into a fist.</p><p>“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I wish I had never been born.”</p><p>“Oh, child, you don’t mean that.”</p><p>“I do.” The words were harshly emphatic. “Mama and Father were so happy together. But then I came along and ruined everything.”</p><p>“That’s not true at all.”</p><p>“It is. I wish I weren’t who I am.”</p><p>“Why would you even consider something so dreadful?” L’haiya felt something in her chest twist. “Aurelia, darling-”</p><p>“I mean it. Every time Father looks at me, I see it in his eyes,” she choked. “He resents me. If he had the choice between me or Mama, he’d have taken Mama without even thinking about it. Sazha made me happy. I didn’t have to feel guilty about being myself when I was with him, ever. And now he’ll be on the other side of the world and I’ll just- I’ll be here, making everyone <em>unhappy</em> just by existing. If I just hadn’t- I just-"</p><p>"Aurelia-"</p><p>"I just wish I could be someone <em>else!” </em> she wailed. "I wish I could be some<em>where</em> else, I wish I had <em>any</em> kind of purpose, but I <em>don't</em>, I'm just trapped in this <em>cage</em> and I can't-"</p><p>L’haiya knew there was nothing she could say and little more she could do to speak either to her charge's frustration or her suffocating loneliness. She was a practical woman who had made a promise to a close friend to watch over her family, but nothing in that promise had prepared her for a man so bereft and bleak in the absence of his wife's presence that he could not bear to raise his own child.</p><p>Something had to be done, she thought. Or at least <em>said</em>. It was her fault for allowing Julian to continue as he had done for so many years, not wanting to rock the boat and tell him he needed to behave like the father he was. She decided she would speak with him tonight, as soon as she was able.</p><p>But in the meantime, she couldn't leave her alone like this. So she sat with the girl in silence and let her weep until there were no tears left to shed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. #26 - When Pigs Fly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You brought *Elidibus* into this?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>emet-selch's real official job was gremlin wrangler</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Now you're just having me on."</p><p>"Would I lie to you?" she purred, grinding into him until the motion left him breathless. Somehow he managed to find the wherewithal to grasp her rolling hips and still them, as much as he would have preferred otherwise. With one eye cracked open to make a study of her flushed and smiling face, he grumbled:</p><p>"Frequently, Azem. <em>Frequently.</em>"</p><p>"All right, <em>Emet-Selch,</em>" she retorted, thoroughly undaunted, hands wrapping about his wrists, "let me rephrase my question. Would I lie to you about anything of <em>consequence?</em>"</p><p>"You're saying this is inconsequential?"</p><p>"Very much so."</p><p>"It required a damage report to the Bureau of the Architect-"</p><p>"Then let's say that at this precise moment in time, I am far too inebriated - and full of a sense of accomplishment - to lie to you."</p><p>Hades blinked slowly up at his mate, into amused golden eyes framed with tawny lashes - a beam of living sunlight. Her smile was as infectious and as radiant as ever, and it was always an internal struggle to maintain a frown when it was focused upon him. </p><p>"Yes," he sighed, "but a <em>flying</em> pig? Really?"</p><p>"Just so."</p><p>"I have no words. ...Actually, scratch that. I have far too many words. Where do I even begin?" He squinted at her in the darkness. "...Why do we even <em>have</em> one of those concepts? What's the bloody <em>point?"</em> </p><p>"We have several of them, as it happens." Azem shrugged. "It's listed in the department logs for authorized concepts. You might check the archives for more information, but I saw the paperwork for myself. Anyway- this one was feral. And it was a very large specimen. Disturbingly large. And wild, somehow. Several of them were menacing a small-"</p><p>
  <em>"Menacing?"</em>
</p><p>"You heard me. Yes. Feral flying pigs were menacing a small settlement well north of here. So that's why--"</p><p>"---you stole the pegasus and took it for a joyride."</p><p>"Yes," Azem said, in as calm and matter-of-fact a voice as if she'd just informed him she had made breakfast. "But really, 'steal' is such a strong and unpleasant word. I was going to return it once I was done. Less 'joyride,' more 'requisitioned mount for Convocation business.' I filled out all the forms."</p><p>"Right. And you think the others will see it that way." </p><p>"I do," she chirped cheerfully. "I've already run it by Elidibus. Perfectly in keeping with the rules and hardly worth mention, let alone censure."</p><p>"You brought <em>Elidibus</em> into this?" </p><p>"Only for clarification's sake. He wanted to come along but I told him it wouldn't be wise."</p><p>He gave her a judgmental squint -- he still wore his mask of office, but the sour twist of his lips alone made his opinion more than evident. "Azem, please stop trying to corrupt our Emissary. He gets involved enough just trying to cover for you with the others, and that's too much involvement."</p><p>"Personally, I think a bit of harmless trouble would do Elidibus some good." Utterly unrepentant, she grinned at him and removed the striped scarlet mask, setting it upon the nightstand. He almost reached for it, but knew she'd distract him if he tried, and she would probably be successful. "That poor boy needs <em>someone</em> to teach him how to have fun. Goodness knows he wouldn't have any if left to his own devices."</p><p>Hades chose not to answer that.</p><p>"So," he said very carefully, "let me repeat all of this back to you. Just so I can make certain I have the facts in order, as I am <em>reasonably</em> certain from what you've said that this will be on the top of the agenda minutes tomorrow."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"In the course of your travels, you encountered a flying pig-"</p><p>"Pigs. <em>Plural</em>. Not just one. An entire <em>horde</em> of them. Thirty to fifty, at least."</p><p>"All right, all right. You encountered a <em>horde of flying wild pigs</em> which were, you claim, <em>menacing</em> a local settlement. Precisely- Tisiphone, please don't squirm. It feels delightful, but I <em>am </em>trying, <em>nominally</em>, to perform my duties - precisely <em>what</em> were they doing in the process of said 'menacing' that required the Shepherd's intervention?"</p><p>"What? Oh," she shrugged, "this particular settlement maintains very large and very high quality apple orchards. It's widely known for its cider and..."</p><p>Hades took a moment to count, silently, to ten. His stare was bland and knowing.</p><p>"Hythlodaeus suggested you take the pegasus with you, didn't he?"</p><p>"It wasn't... <em>not</em> Hythlodaeus."</p><p>
  <em>"Tisiphone."</em>
</p><p>"Oh come now, Hades! If the Convocation hadn't intervened it would have left their entire harvest in ruins and they'd have had nothing to see them through the cold season, and it's not anywhere near as explosive as the grapes incident." At his answering scowl, she let out a short laugh. "Too soon?"</p><p>"Much too soon."</p><p>"All right, the one thing I might have done differently is to let Lahabrea know I borrowed the pegasus before I left. But I <em>did</em> bring it back to the Akadaemia in one piece. No harm, no foul." She paused, a brief frown knitting her brows. "Well... no <em>harm</em>, anyway. There was certainly foul involved- <em>but</em> a bit of pig, er, <em>refuse</em> isn't going to cause any harm. Just a great deal of stink." </p><p>Hades pinched the bridge of his nose. </p><p>"...I'm going to hear about this from the Speaker first thing, aren't I?"</p><p>"Most likely. But I'm willing to wager a peace offering of apple cider will make him marginally less irate <em>and</em> I field-tested his creation for him. If he has any sense, I think he should be pleased with the outcome- oh, Hades, don't be so cross with me. All's well that ends well, isn't it?"</p><p>"At this rate they're going to add 'Shepherd-minder' to Emet-Selch's official list of duties," he sighed, and her laughter was a bright chime that spilled into the room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. #27 - Acceptance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>good guy haurchefant doesn't make it weird when you want to just be friends</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Aurelia squinted at the document in her hand.<br/><br/>"So if I am reading this correctly," she said, "in Ishgard I would be known in official records as Aurelia de <em>Fortemps </em>rather than Aurelia Laskaris?"</p><p>"That you would. As a ward of my father's house you and young Master Alphinaud - and yes, Mistress Tataru as well - have all been conferred the status and rights of scions of the High Houses. That includes the protection of our name."</p><p>"Well! That is quite the thing. To be cast by circumstance from one noble house only to gain another." Her smile was listless and wry. "If that isn't a statement upon the whims of fate I don't know what is."</p><p>"My father will be glad to help where needed, I think. But if ever you have need of my personal assistance, it is yours. Just as it has ever been."</p><p>"You have done more for me than I could ever have hoped in these past few weeks alone." Unbidden memories arose in the wake of her words, and she felt sudden heat in her cheeks despite the bitter chill of the wind. "....Haurchefant, I... y-you do not think ill of me, do you?"</p><p>His brows lifted until they disappeared in the unkempt mop of his silvery hair. </p><p>"What? Certainly not! Why in the Fury's name would you think so?"</p><p>"I don't..." Her hands tightened upon the balcony railing as she took a deep breath. "Since the other night I've not really had the chance to speak with you alone like this. I suppose we've been busy but that's only part of it. I... I feel that on some level, I've been avoiding you."</p><p>"Go on," he said gently, when he saw that she was struggling. Aurelia smiled, small and uncertain.</p><p>"You see, I... I think - very much - that I have not been as good a friend as I should. That is to say, when we were-... I think I may have been using you. For comfort. And I'm ashamed of myself for it. You deserve better." Her hands gripped fistfuls of her skirts. "That... was extremely selfish of me. I have been unfair to you- unfair, and unkind. And I wanted to-"</p><p>His warm hand on her cheek interrupted her stumbling, awkward apology mid-syllable.</p><p>"You have no need to beg forgiveness of me, Aurelia," he said gently. "I've long understood the way of things. And I am hardly an innocent wounded party; when we first met this was the offer I made to you. Was it not?"</p><p>"Aye, I fully recall that you propositioned me. 'Twas a jest, or so I assumed at the time."</p><p>"Come now," he chided, "do you think I offer the comforts of my bed to every passing adventurer?"</p><p>"The thought had crossed the minds of several fortress denizens, as I recall." Haurchefant smiled; in truth, his intent all along had been to make his friend laugh. She had burdens enough without adding himself to the list. "You have got a bit of a <em>reputation</em>, Lord Greystone."</p><p>"Ah, just so! Well, 'tis true that I have my appetites. But I take none who do not come willingly." He patted her hand, still smiling. "You are neither the first nor the last to accept that offer. It came with no strings attached. You have been through some very trying times of late and I am full glad to have had the privilege of your companionship."</p><p>"Haurchefant-"</p><p>"Pray let me continue. You've shared my bed, but that only makes us friends. It does not mean you are interested in anything more, and it would be unseemly of me to assume otherwise."</p><p>The careful way she searched his expression made it clear she sought reassurance. "Truly?"</p><p>"Truly."</p><p>"You're not just attempting to spare my blushes, are you? I know I've wronged you. I can accept it if I've damaged our relationship."</p><p>His lips curved in a cheeky grin. "I admit I would not find it amiss were you to seek another tryst- but that is your decision to make. Whichever you choose, my hearth or my bed, I will be as glad for it as I ever was."</p><p>"If you're certain all is well and forgiven." Her eyes, wet and overbright, shone in the flickering light of the balcony lamps. "You are my dearest friend, Haurchefant. You always will be."</p><p>"As you are mine," he said. "And I would hate for <em>you</em> to feel as though aught has changed between us." </p><p>Despite her air of self-possession, Haurchefant thought, Aurelia had never struck him as a *cold* person. Quite the opposite, in fact- but she was also very much like her patron goddess. Bright, constant, radiant... and remote. Always just at arm's length, so very close to the joys and sorrows of those she protected but shuttered from them as though she were separated from all she held dear by an invisible panel of glass. </p><p>She was, despite working tirelessly on behalf of Eorzea's betterment, not an Eorzean. She was an outsider, an interloper, and it was the wall that prevented her from truly finding a place among them. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he wished to change that. </p><p>"You will always have a home in Ishgard," he said, his voice uncommonly firm.</p><p>To feel her arms suddenly wrap around him was startling, but it brought him joy as well. "Thank you," she whispered. "Haurchefant, it... that was the last time. My actions that night were self-serving and they would be even more so now. I fear I would cause you a hurt neither of us could heal. But I shall cherish our friendship, always. No matter where fate and life take us."</p><p>Haurchefant's arms tightened about her slim frame in return for just a moment, as he indulged himself in the moment of wistful sadness her admission brought him. But when she released him from her embrace at last he was smiling, blue eyes once again bright and twinkling with mirth. </p><p>"If we sit around talking about our feelings much longer, my friend, I fear we'll turn into ice statues ere the conversation ends! Let's come inside from this awful wind. We can warm ourselves by the fire while you tell my father of some of your adventures- and myself as well. I don't believe you ever told me what happened once you opened the doors of the Tower?"</p><p>He held out one elbow in a courtly gesture. With that small, shy smile he loved, the Warrior of Light took it and followed him into the manor.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. #28 - Irenic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>spoilers for CT i guess</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Nero said, irritably. "We did. Not that it's any business of yours."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>"She had no particular objections at the time that I recall." Try as he might to sound indifferent, it rang false in his own ears. A paltry defense of something that should have required none, to his thinking, and yet it carried with it the fetid stench of a guilty conscience. He hated it. "I suppose she told you and Garlond about it, then. Unless it's spread all over the camp."</p><p>"No one's spread any rumors about the two of you." The look in G'raha Tia's eyes rankled at his frayed temper further still. "As far as I'm aware I am the only one who knows." </p><p>Nero had expected some degree of censure had their salacious little interlude ever seen the light of day. He hadn't missed the man's attraction to Aurelia Laskaris and felt quite sure he would be compelled to do something absurd like defend her honor.</p><p>But to his surprise, there was nothing of envy in that stare. Or if there was, G'raha was far better at concealing it than Nero would have done at the same age. He was painfully aware that for all his conceits and all his cool, cultured airs, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It had taken years to break himself of the habit of reacting personally to every slight, perceived or real, and he struggled with it still. It was the only fault he would readily admit to sharing with Cid Garlond.</p><p>On second thought, Garlond probably <em>didn't</em> know. He was sweet on the eikon-slayer himself, and Nero had little doubt that if word of what had transpired had come round to the other engineer, he'd have gotten an earful and then some. Garlond would have shouted and pontificated at length about what a selfish shite he was.</p><p>This boy only looked at him.</p><p>Beneath the weight of that stare he felt first uneasy, then his cheeks began to burn with something that felt... no, something that <em>was</em> shame. For that tense brace of moments, Nero was an Academy student of twelve summers once again, standing before the provost's desk, called upon to account for some nameless instance of misbehavior. </p><p>The comparison left him embarrassed and angry. Hells! He <em>wasn't</em> that student any longer, that was the thing. Hadn't been that boy for years now. He was a man grown- and more to the point, a <em>free</em> one. There was no longer a legatus to whom he was compelled to answer, nor any Emperor to whom he must bend the knee, nor any bureaucratic apparatus to gainsay him.</p><p>He answered to no one and could do as he pleased.</p><p>But that stare, that silent <em>reproach</em>, bored into him until finally he had to look away, turn his eyes upon the gloom-choked skies over Silvertear's northern shore. </p><p>"Well," he said, his voice as cold and brisk as a midwinter morning, "get on with it then."</p><p>"With what?"</p><p>He decided not to mince words. "You want me to apologise to her."</p><p>The auburn tail flickered with his inner restlessness- but otherwise, G'raha gave no response. The bow of his mouth was drawn and solemn, thoughts turned inward as they seemed to do more and more often.</p><p>From here the outline of the Tower was just barely visible, the crystal facets shimmering azure and light as its massive spire reached into the heavens, only to disappear amongst the clouds. The cloud sat so low that even the short journey on the road that led down into the Syrcus trench was nearly impassable, and so they had decided as a group not to brave gigas territory attempting to access the Dossal Gate until the haze had lifted somewhat. Nero would have gone full bore ahead, damn the consequences if he hadn't needed the others. </p><p>His exasperation made itself known in a soft and huffed sigh, broad shoulders slouching in the confines of his coat. He thrust his hands into the deep pockets.</p><p>"If you aren't here to chastise me, then why did you want to talk to me?"</p><p>"Let me say, first of all, that you are quite right. What happened between the two of you is not my business." G'raha's smile, thin and rueful, did not touch the melancholy cast in those two-toned eyes. "But what I have to say to you does concern the Warrior of Light. I know the two of you have not... necessarily seen eye to eye, in the past-"</p><p>"An understatement. We were once enemies."</p><p>"-<em>but</em> I would ask you to try and look past your differences, and treat her with some kindness. She could use a friend."</p><p>"She is the champion of the realm," he said wryly. "So-called. And hardly in need of your protection or anyone else's."</p><p>"That's where you would be wrong." </p><p>"Meaning?"</p><p>"I've heard a great deal about what's gone on behind closed doors. Aurelia is a close friend so I will not betray her secrets." One of those eyes, the crimson one, flickered aside to catch his gaze. "As I likewise consider <em>you</em> my friend."</p><p>The Garlean scoffed, his lips twisting into an icy sneer.</p><p>"You're a fool, then," he said. "Worse than that, you're a naive fool."</p><p>"All men need a confidante, Nero. Even me. Even you." </p><p>"I was Gaius van Baelsar's second in command. The man who successfully uncovered the secrets of the Ultima Weapon." When G'raha did not answer, he challenged: "That fact truly stirs no rancor in you? I find that curious."</p><p>"I recognize an attempt to bait me when I hear it." Nero said nothing, choosing instead to carefully study the mica formations upon a nearby outcropping with a focus only slightly less feverish than if it had been a recently uncovered tomelith. "You were once an enemy of Eorzea, that I won't deny- but you are not without your positive qualities."</p><p>"Name three."</p><p>G'raha beamed at him. "That is not much of a challenge, you know."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"You are clearly a very resilient man. You are also resourceful- your knowledge has been of great assistance to us whether you believe it or not."</p><p>"That's two."</p><p>"So it is." The Miqo'te held up three fingers. "Three - and I fully expect you to deny it - you are remarkably reliable. You could have chosen any number of ways to sabotage the excavation and yet not only have you not done so, but you have also lent your expertise to fill the gaps in my own knowledge."</p><p>"Your knowledge has been useful to my own goals," Nero said shortly. "Don't take it as a sign of aught else."</p><p>"Four," G'raha grinned, "you're a half-decent culinarian."</p><p>"Amateur at best."</p><p>"Amateur or no, Ryssrael adores you."</p><p>"Seven hells," he groused, "get to the bloody <em>point</em>."</p><p>"My point is that I can think of few better suited to help her."</p><p>"She has that Ishgardian. That knight-"</p><p>"You clearly know nothing of Ishgard. One or two may treat her as an ally but a political alliance is hardly a friendship." G'raha shook his head. "She needs a <em>real</em> friend, Nero. Someone she can trust to look out for her interests. Not Ishgard's, or Eorzea's, or the Scions'. Hers alone."</p><p>"Why are you asking this of <em>me?</em> Even if she didn't detest me-"<br/><br/>"I doubt she detests you any more than you do her."</p><p>"<em>Not the point</em>. And you seem to be solidly in her corner. Why not take this duty upon yourself?"</p><p>"Because," he said, his gaze returning to the silhouette of the distant Tower as his smile faded, "there is something else I need to do first."</p><p>"And what is that?"</p><p>That fathomless stare seemed to travel for malms. It crossed dark waters and passed through the heavy bank of clouds and into endless heights of faceted azure, and for a moment G'raha Tia seemed immeasurably old, older even than the prize they sought. He appeared to be lost in his own reverie, viewing something that appeared intended only for his eyes. </p><p>Still, Nero tol Scaeva did his level best to see it himself. He looked with the eyes of a man who had never touched a scrap of magic in his life outside the hallways of his own imagination, but no matter how he strained he saw nothing mystical or ominous. There was only light and Allagan artifice: a sentinel in turns fantastic and ancient, taunting him as it stood just out of reach. </p><p>As he had, his entire life, stood out of reach of others. He felt himself suffused with an emotion that was very much like yearning, for a brace of seconds, before the sensation passed. </p><p><em>Ridiculous</em>, he thought. <em>All of it. Bloody ridiculous. I never would have had these worries had I simply followed behind and not attempted to ingratiate myself. </em></p><p>But once again, G'raha Tia was smiling like an excited child.</p><p>"I have no idea whatsoever," that relentless cheer was a light that pierced the faraway expression he held, dispelled his dark mood like the morning sun through mist. "But I rather suspect we'll all find out ere long, don't you think?"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. #29 - Parental</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"He wasn't a father to me. How could he have been?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so this dovetails with two previous prompts in this set, and is set before prompt #27, "palaver," in last year's ffxivwrite. papa edmont is so good :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>Eighty-nine. Ninety.</em>
</p><p>The bristles dragged through her hair in a soothing rhythm, marking a routine she'd once kept daily and all but forgotten. </p><p>She'd been lulled into a half-dozing state by the sound of the wind as it whistled around the eaves of the manor - it was very cold but there was no snow or ice for once - and every northerly burst made her feel as though she'd stepped back in time a good ten years. </p><p>A knot from one of the logs popped in the hearth-fire. She started and exhaled, then raised the brush again. </p><p>
  <em>Ninety-one. Ninety-two.</em>
</p><p>There were differences, of course. No rattle from a nearby ceruleum space heater, and no worry that her aunt might come knocking for one of her talks. But she was no longer that girl of eighteen summers and this was not the borrowed guest-chamber her aunt and uncle had assigned her in the family compound in Garlemald. This was Ishgard and over a decade had passed since she had been that girl. If anyone in her family spoke her name now it was to curse it for the shame her actions had undoubtedly brought upon them.</p><p>But she had no regrets. Things had happened that no reasonable person could have foreseen, and she had done the best she could under the circumstances.</p><p>
  <em>Ninety-three.</em>
</p><p>When one thought of it in that light, Aurelia supposed she hadn't done so poorly. Granted, hers was something of an extraordinary case, but even Warriors of Light weren't invincible and before all of this had started, she had just been a normal woman no different from any other on the star. If she had known what she-</p><p>A rap on the heavy door. </p><p>"Mistress Aurelia? Are you awake?"</p><p>She set her brush down. "I am," she said. "What do you need, Saulette?"</p><p>"The Co-- er, Lord Edmont's asked for you."</p><p>"Give me one moment." Aurelia reached for her soft house coat and stepped into her slippers, then made her way to the door. It opened with a creak and the girl on the other side looked distressed to see that she was still fumbling with the belt at her waist.</p><p>"Oh, miss, you should have said-"</p><p>"It's fine," she said, smiling. "I hardly need assistance to put on a robe, and Lord Edmont will likely have been winding down himself. Where is he?"</p><p>"The parlor, miss."</p><p>She padded down the hallway and up the stairs at Saulette's heels. The young maid opened the door and bowed, stepping aside to allow Aurelia entry. Edmont de Fortemps sat in his customary chair, warming himself at the hearth and dressed in bedclothes of his own, careworn features drawn and pensive, silver-streaked dark hair perhaps a touch less neat than he might have allowed during daytime hours. It was a rare look at a man who was as controlled and dignified as her own father had been.</p><p>"Mistress Aurelia, my lord."</p><p>"Thank you, Saulette. Pray excuse us. I would like to speak with her alone."</p><p>The girl bowed. "Of course, my lord."</p><p>The door clicked softly shut at her back. Lord Edmont was smiling at her in a way her own father had never done, and gesturing at the chair nearest him.</p><p>"Well, come in, my dear," he said. "It's too cold to stand in the stairwell, you'll catch a cold from that draft." She smiled in return, drawing closer to the fire and curling up in the plush upholstered chair. "Are you nervous?"</p><p>"About tomorrow? A bit, but in that public speaking sort of way, you know."</p><p>"I do know, as it happens! Between you and me: that is the <em>one</em> bit about being the official head of the House that I have not missed." He reached for a porcelain teapot sitting on a tray at the nearby end table. "All the heres and wherefores and endless worry about my public image and how it might or might not reflect poorly upon the family as a whole."</p><p>"Indeed."</p><p>"I wish Artoirel joy of it. He's been chomping at the bit but I suspect reality will set in soon enough."</p><p>"I think he'll do well," Aurelia said, watching him pour the cup.</p><p>"He will. I love the boy, you know. Very much his mother's child. A bit stuffy at times, but he's a good man with a good head on his shoulders, and he's not mired in Church politics the way some of his peers are. He'll do the Fortemps name justice, I think." Edmont's dark eyes shone with cheer as he lifted the filled teacup and offered it to her. "...You had a great deal of influence there, you know."</p><p>"You give me far too much credit that I cannot claim, Lord Edmont. Artoirel is his own man."</p><p>"So he is. But you've always led by example, and you taught him some valuable lessons I think he might not otherwise have learned. Cream and sugar?"</p><p>"Just a bit of cream. And one lump." She paused, cup halfway to her lips. "...You really don't miss it at all?"</p><p>"There are some habits I miss. But it's rather like losing a tooth, you know. Strange at first but then everything falls into place over time and you barely notice that part of the routine was ever missing at all. No," he said, watching her sip, "I think it will be no great effort to make the adjustment. Being a private citizen does have its perks. And I'm still the family patriarch. That hasn't changed."</p><p>"No," Aurelia smiled over the rim of the cup. "No, it hasn't."</p><p>"Which brings me to the reason why I had Saulette bring you to me." </p><p>"What? Oh dear. That sounds rather serious," she said, trying to keep her tone lighthearted as she set the cup aside. "Tataru didn't ring you in the middle of the night for some emergency or other, did she?"</p><p>"Fury forbid!" he guffawed. "No, nothing like that. I have something I want to show you, but first I must beg your forgiveness."</p><p>"What? Why?" Aurelia was honestly curious. He set his cup aside and reached for a small, varnished spruce box sitting upon his ottoman, grunting softly with the effort. "Why would you need to apologize to me for anything?"</p><p>Edmont paused, one hand caressing the grain of the wood. That pensive expression had returned to his face, the one she had caught just before Saulette had announced her presence.</p><p>"I've little idea what to do for something like this. I only ever had sons, you see," he said. "I have loved all three of them. Now I don't delude myself into thinking I have been a perfect father, or even a particularly good one, but I like to think I have done well enough by them. ...Two of them, at least. At any rate, I'm told that in Garlemald, the tradition is for the bride to take with her into the ceremony something old, something new-"</p><p>"-something borrowed, and something blue," Aurelia finished. "Yes, it's an old wedding custom the Empire never saw fit to dismantle. Just a sort of mnemonic, for good luck. But I would hardly say it's a requirement."</p><p>"Be that as it may," he said, his fingers working the catch on the box open, "I would very much like you to wear these tomorrow."</p><p>Within the box lay a delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief of sky-blue linen, faded and discolored in places with age, folded into a neat triangle and lying atop what appeared to be a bundle of old letters. Edmont unfolded the corners with as much care as if the cloth was some priceless artifact, and within lay a small, simple pendant, an aquamarine cut into the shape of a teardrop. Firelight reflected upon the individual facets until the jewel sparkled.</p><p>"It's stunning and I'm honored that you would trust me with it. Did these pieces belong to the late countess?" </p><p>His smile trembled. "No," Edmont said. "They belonged to Haurchefant's mother."</p><p>"Oh..."</p><p>"My wife would have destroyed all of it, so I concealed this box within my personal effects. I intended to give all of this to him when <em>he</em> married, but-"</p><p>Aurelia bowed her head, staring into her cup. </p><p>"It bears repeating," his tone was gentle, "that I do not blame you for his death. I have <em>never</em> blamed you."</p><p>"But-" </p><p>"I grieve him, as does any parent who has had to bury their child, but I have never blamed you. I would give anything to have him back. Yet I cannot deny my pride in having raised a son who would be selfless enough to-" He swallowed, the bob in his throat swift and almost violent in its movement. "...Well, we'll never get through this if I start crying. Take it."</p><p>He passed her the box. She stared down at the pendant.</p><p>"Lord Edmont, I-"</p><p>"No titles necessary, my dear. I think at this point we've moved well beyond formality." He cleared his throat and glanced into the fire. "Well, I'm certain your own parents would be very proud of you."</p><p><em>Oh hells.</em> Her throat felt hot and tight and her vision blurred.</p><p>"I very much doubt that," she said, her voice even but only just. "Oh, I doubt that."</p><p>"Why so?"</p><p>Aurelia's fingers clutched the edges of the box until they dug into her palms.</p><p>"...I shouldn't burden you with this-"</p><p>"By all means, my dear. Go on."</p><p>"It's... my background is much like Haurchefant's, in truth." She sighed. "My mother was a musician and an actress. She had top billing in one of His Radiance's personal favorite troupes, in fact. She enjoyed a good deal of renown when she still toured the imperial playhouses. But fame or no, she came from common stock and my uncle wouldn't have the match. Father broke a betrothal and defied his family to marry her. He even left the capitol at their request."</p><p>Edmont had leaned against the armrest of his chair to listen, his expression patient and focused. She glanced into the mirror over the mantelpiece and saw her face, as ever, staring back. Her father's broad nose and high cheekbones and golden hair, her mother's eyes. No matter where she went, she could look in a mirror and always see her mother's eyes. Usually, it was a comfort, in its own way. Tonight-</p><p>She chewed on her lower lip.</p><p>"They didn't know about her weak heart until I came along. It took so much out of her, and she never recovered from my birth. To say that my father was unable to deal with the loss would be putting things kindly."</p><p>"I can well imagine."</p><p>"There were so many times over the years I would see him looking at me and the expression he had on his face when he looked away, it- ...I used to think that he hated me. Knowing what I know now, I can see his side of things better than I ever wanted to. He lost himself in his own despair and had no time for anything else. But I think that if he had been given a choice, he would have taken my mother without a shadow of a doubt. I'm certain I'm not the only child to have ever been in this situation, neither the first nor the last. But his greatest sin, his greatest failure as a father, was letting me know it." </p><p>Something hot trickled down her cheek but she forced herself to keep talking. </p><p>"He wasn't a father to me. How could he possibly have been a good father? The moment she left us he gave up on everything."</p><p>Edmont said nothing, and she could see nothing of his face through her tears. But she heard the sound of the chair scraping as he stood, and the tap of his cane upon the floor. A warm hand descended upon her shoulder and squeezed. Gently he plucked the box from her hands, set it on the table, and pulled her to her feet.</p><p>"Any parent should be proud to have raised a child like you," he said, "and I doubt your mother would have held any of your choices against you. You are an exceptional woman - not just by your deeds, but by your heart - and even if she had known beforehand what would happen to her I suspect that much like Haurchefant, she would not have changed a thing about her decision. Sometimes our sorrows are so great in scale and so close together we think the world will never be anything else. But there is joy, great joy, in living." He tucked a stray sheaf of her hair behind her ear. "And there is joy in the hope you bring to others and in your presence in their lives. Let that be her enduring gift to you- as you are to us."</p><p>Smiling, albeit with a great sadness in his eyes, he opened his free arm and let her come to him. </p><p>"Had I ever been fortunate enough to raise a daughter," he said, "I like to think she would have been a great deal like you. If you can ever bring yourself to say it, it would greatly honor this old man to be your father in truth as well as bureaucracy."</p><p>Wrapped in his embrace, she smelled cloves, coffee, aged paper, and the earthy sweetness of pipe tobacco. She inhaled on a choked sob and nodded, unable to speak. Tomorrow would be for joy and joy alone. Tonight, she wept for the father she had lost years before he had left her, and for the gift of another.</p><p>And before the warmth of the great hearth, basking in the warmth of the parental love she had always wished to know for herself, she let the last ancient tatters of her grief burn away to cinders.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. #30 - Splinter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"How can you find beauty in *any* world, shattered or otherwise," she said sadly, "when you look at it and only see your loss staring back?"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>==================================</p><p>
  <em>I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. </em>
  <br/>
  <em>-- Peter S. Beagle, "The Last Unicorn"</em>
</p><p>==================================</p><p> </p><p><br/>She was alone, or so she had thought. <br/><br/>The Warrior of Darkness stood witness to the zenith of such a night as Norvrandt had not seen in a century: the moon was eclipsed, its silhouette limned in celestial fire. This was seen as a good omen and the celebration was raucous enough that when she had found the summons sitting neatly atop her belongings, she had answered it.<br/><br/>Despite her misgivings, she had answered it.<br/><br/>Stars peeked through those liminal spaces in the canopy overhead and the azure phosphorescence of Yx'Maja lay beneath her feet and the susurrus of cicadas whispered about her ears. Redolent, the scent of water and earth and dark grasses. Things in which she had taken comfort since she was a child. Growth and renewal.</p><p>And carried upon the night breeze with all of those things, winding in and around and through like a parasitic ivy choking an old-growth tree, were scents she associated with something else - some<em>one</em> else - entirely. Olibanum and black moss and vetiver.</p><p>Emet-Selch. </p><p>As usual, she had caught his scent before she sensed his presence, and she wasn't certain whether to feel curious or uneasy, and it didn't matter because he had drawn close as she stood perfectly still, musculature rigid with anticipation. Her pulse made an irregular and visible flutter at the base of her throat. She didn't know why he had called her here, expecting never to hear from him again after that kiss, and yet.<br/><br/>Here he was. </p><p>She watched his brows knit and his lips purse.</p><p>"You needn't look at me so," he said. </p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"As though you fear I mean to devour you. You already have my word that I will do no harm nor attempt any subterfuge." The words, flat and indifferent, cut through the tension like the blade of a knife. "It would hardly be necessary in any case."</p><p>She didn't fear him, rather her own weakness- but he didn't need to know that.</p><p>Aurelia wrapped her arms about herself as a flower might fold its petals tight against encroaching darkness, and with a tilt of her chin stared upward into the indifferent sky. <em>The sunless sea,</em> she thought. "You asked that I meet you and here I am. Speak your piece and be done."</p><p>"Such <em>hauteur</em>, Lady Laskaris. That is not the way to address your emperor."</p><p>In the face of his open mockery, she said nothing. Emet-Selch laughed, a harsh barking noise, unexpectedly angry at the lack of outward reaction. Her shoulders jerked in reaction and fingers dug into her elbows as gloved hands settled to brace the column of her neck.</p><p>He was not unaware of the power he held. One flex and his fingers could command that frail flesh, could do... anything he wished. He could stroke the smoothness of her skin with a lover's touch, or grip taut and squeeze until he had cut her off from air and aether alike.  </p><p>"And how, I wonder," he purred, "should His Radiance seek recompense from such a recalcitrant subject for this latest of slights?"</p><p>"Is this why you summoned me? To mock me?" Her voice was a thin thread of its usual self. "To remind me of all I am not, as you always do? Surely your original motivation was not such a petty thing."</p><p>The Ascian's thumbs traced twin paths along the slight curve of her neck, from the backs of her ears to her nape and back again, until a fine tremor settled into her skin. She made no move to stop him; they both knew any paltry attempt she made would be useless.</p><p>With a sigh that might be read as a concession, Emet-Selch steered her back to close the distance until they stood pressed chest to back. </p><p>"We are not done, little Warrior," he said. </p><p>Aurelia froze. He had released her only to lift the weight of her hair from her shoulders and twist it into a golden rope about his fingers. It had spilled in soft waves there to curl just below the curve of her breasts, and though she could hear the stutter of her breath in her own ears she realized the gesture was done without thought, with the absentminded familiarity of a habit. As if they had done this before so many times that it was a natural response. </p><p><em>Please let me go,</em> she thought. She was terrified. He had barely touched her and she was terrified. He knew as well as she did how matters stood, and she was acutely aware what a simple thing it would be for him to manipulate her emotions. As easy as a snap of his fingers.</p><p>
  <em>Please don't kiss me again.</em>
</p><p>It was easier to be angry at him. </p><p>His hands fell away, and she only just managed to suppress her sigh of relief. Her fear and the Light in her body made her feel like a piece of sun-worn silk, faded and fraying thread by thread at the edges. </p><p>"Can you imagine what this world would be had Hydaelyn's summoners failed?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Of course not- because it would not exist. By all rights, it <em>should</em> not exist. It is an abomination. A splintered fragment of the whole." The high, sharp bite of his voice dropped to something low and deep, furred fronds of plants that grew and blossomed and died entirely in shadow. "The Rejoining will set to rights an ancient horror beyond your understanding."</p><p>"You can't believe that," she said. "You can't <em>possibly</em> believe that what you're doing is good or right."</p><p>"The truth is the truth."</p><p>"As <em>you</em> see it." She tore herself from the immediate range of his grasp. Anger had animated her, and her cheeks bloomed with color, a vibrant burst of light. Something almost like recognition flickered in the depths of his eyes, recognition and old pain, but this time she was able to ignore it. "Have you spoken to any of these people? In this reflection or any other? Have you walked alongside them? Seen their triumphs and their woes? Or do you see only catspaws to move about on a board where it suits you?"</p><p>"Countless times have I walked among these splintered half-men as one of their fellows," he spat, and the pain was replaced by a depthless wellspring of anger, nurtured over untold years. "Each and <em>every time</em> where it comes to their greedy and feckless and <em>self-destructive</em> nature, I have been proven <em>correct-"</em></p><p>"How can you have been proven correct if you had already made up your mind on the matter long before? Everything you have said tells me you don't understand mortals. You don't understand <em>me</em>."</p><p>Somewhere in her haze of anger, she saw him flinch as if the words themselves had dealt him a sudden blow across the face.</p><p>"Stop-"</p><p>"-and you have definitively proven to me just now that you don't <em>care</em> to understand. How can you-"</p><p><em>"Stop!!"</em> the Ascian roared. </p><p>A massive hue and cry arose from the roosting waterbirds, startled by the sound, one that culminated in the splash of water and the incessant beating of a multitude of wings as they fled the wrath of whatever terrible creature had disturbed their sanctuary. In moments an ominous quiet had settled over the grove. </p><p>Aurelia stared at him, stunned into silence not by his command, but by the note of desperation in it. Emet-Selch looked more disheveled and more <em>mortal</em> at that moment than she had ever seen him: his cheeks as flushed with high color as her own, his amber eyes ablaze, the silver-white stripe of his fringe wild and mussed, his chest heaving with short and ragged breaths. He looked absolutely livid.</p><p>But the twist of his mouth and the knit of his brow were-</p><p>Despairing. Stricken.</p><p>Somewhere, somehow, without meaning to, she had wounded him.</p><p>"I do not," he hissed, "want to hear your pathetic <em>defenses</em>."</p><p>But she saw the overbright shine of his eyes and she knew. Her rancor was gone and there remained only the usual nagging mournfulness of something <em>missing</em>, and with that sorrow now came a sense of enduring pity. He had somehow sagged into himself, his posture more of a tired slump than ever. And she understood him, for just a moment. Gods help her, she understood.</p><p>He was just like her father.</p><p>"How can you find beauty in <em>any</em> world, fragmented or otherwise," she said sadly, "when you look at it and only see your loss staring back?"</p><p>"What would you know of my <em>loss?"</em></p><p>"I don't. I can only imagine it. But I have seen what can happen when a soul drowns in its own despair."</p><p>His brows flattened, then quirked, and that joyless smirk returned to tilt his lips- but he could not open pieces of her soul without opening himself in return. Beneath the Ascian's scorn, there lingered a great and terrible emptiness within his watchtower eyes. Like an emptied chrysalis, she thought, millennia of grief had rendered him hollow. </p><p>"As have I," Emet-Selch said. "You may rest assured that I will not make the same mistake twice."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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